#though Tune is the one who prompted me to generate a story

[verdemoth]

Perseverance! Rookie member of the EEG’s field research team. She’s a nerd-jock newbie who wants her idols to like her sooooooooooo bad.

-> Biology major with a particular interest in ecology! And bugs she likes bugs. And really all sorts of fun crawly invertebrates.

-> Perse is no stranger to the EEG headquarters, she’d been coming here for years before her official admission to the team! With two older relatives to shadow, she got to know a lot of the older members during her frequent visits. She greatly admires all of them.

-> She maintains some terrariums to raise and study copepods and amphipods. As well as several potted plants.

-> Perse has the same level of passion discussing a new and as of yet undocumented species as she does showing off the cute little house moth that almost gave Maven a heart attack.

-> She’s a hobbyist photographer with a Leica 1(A) 35mm. She’s into wildlife photography, and though her work isn’t very technically impressive, you don’t need to be an ace at something to have fun with it!

-> Perseverance maintains that she is NOT a nerd like her cousin, Maven, is a nerd.

-> She’s very athletic and energetic. She enjoys a daily jog, and plenty of exercise both indoors and outdoors. She loves going on hiking or full on camping trips with her uncle Phoenix.

-> She and Phoenix are very close. They’ve got a really easygoing and playful dynamic, with plenty of in-jokes built up between them. Phoenix was a constant in her early life, almost a third parent. He’d often visit to play with her and to babysit so her dads could enjoy a free evening every so often. He still dotes on her as much as Perse will let him get away with, but he respects that she values having a more adult relationship now. Still with plenty of fun, of course!

-> Perse and Maven weren’t really around each other as young kids, but became friends as they got a little older. Maven’s scientific leanings led to Perse finding and developing her own passion for study and exploration. Maven and the rest of her family have been nothing but supportive and nurturing, and she’s grateful for it. But she wants to make sure they know she’s not just a little girl anymore, and she’s ready to be the one offering support when needed.

-> She’s more than willing to get her hands dirty and to do ‘boring’, menial work. Especially if it means the people she looks up to see how diligent and cooperative she is :)

-> Perse is very needlessly competitive, though in a lighthearted sort of way. She doesn’t mind taking a loss, because it’s more about the challenge than the winning. It’s about the thrill. But don’t expect her to go easy on a challenger, because she still plays to win. Game night is a disaster

[laundrybiscuits]

Hah, thanks @beansthekid for giving me a chance to ramble a bit more!

I think there are many different and equally valid ways to interpret Eddie’s relationship with the Corroded Coffin crew; we really do not get very much canon material at all, which means it’s all very open to interpretation. However, I personally tend to read them as friendly acquaintances more than friends, because Eddie doesn't seem to treat them with any true closeness.

In the few scenes they share, Eddie sort of treats them like undifferentiated sidekicks/minions/audience. He seems basically fond of them, and I don't think his attitude comes from any sort of disrespect or dislike. Rather, I think it’s more about Eddie’s own comfort level: in general, I read Eddie as very skittish about relationships. He likes to keep people at a certain remove, and he likes to be in control of that distance.

We don't see him confiding in anyone or being intentionally vulnerable...right up until Steve and "guess I got a little jealous." Even with Chrissy, though he was definitely trying to present himself as friendly and harmless, he was absolutely putting on a little performance the entire time. He was taking on an entertainer role. He's willing to be seen as ridiculous, because that's the class-clown side of him, but it's not the same thing as letting down his guard. People laughing at him for his antics can't hurt him, at this point. Admitting he's fond enough of Dustin to make that a weakness, and being honest about feeling inadequate—that is vulnerability.

I do think it's plausible that that little jealousy confession was prompted in part by guilt over the whole broken-bottle thing. To be clear, I don't think Eddie's boatshed reaction was wildly out of line; at that point, he had zero information/context that would lead him to conclude that anyone out looking for him was on his side, much less Steve Harrington.

He was also scared out of his mind and literally shaking with adrenaline and fear, but he still didn’t actually hurt anyone. He could have shanked Steve and made a run for it, but I read him as someone who fundamentally does not want to hurt or scare people for real. He wants to make them uncomfortable, sure—or at the very least he doesn’t really care if they’re made uncomfortable by how he looks and acts. But actually being the villain of a story? That doesn’t fit with his values or his self-image.

So it would make sense if afterwards, he felt an outsized and misplaced sense of guilt about that little encounter, and let that spur him to offer up a little bit of honesty. It’s an intimacy he doesn’t extend to anyone else in the entire show.

I mean—hell, I am fully fixated on this little exchange:

Nancy: Hey, it’s Nancy.

Eddie: Wheeler, hey!

It would be way, way more natural to mirror her intro and call her Nancy, but instead he does this weird surname thing (and continues to call her by her surname) despite the fact that he already knows another Wheeler who is presumably also potentially tuned in. Why on earth would he do this. There are so many siblings in the group. The only way I can make sense of it is as a distancing mechanism that he leans on.

By the end, he does start addressing some people by their first names, some of the time. I haven’t done a full accounting, but I’m pretty sure it’s mostly just Dustin and Steve (not counting the “this is for you, Chrissy” moment).

But back to the Corroded Coffin lads: the biggest tell, for me, is that they had band practice without him. They knew he was missing, and either they knew he’d be a suspect/in trouble or they didn’t know him well enough to recognize his trailer on the news. They’re just kids, so it’s fairly reasonable that they wouldn’t be trying to take any action to find/help Eddie, but it seems unbearably callous that they’d just be having a normal band practice. I still don’t really know how to fold that into my understanding of their dynamics, but one possible interpretation is that they aren’t used to thinking of him as someone who ever really gets hurt, so they figure it’ll all just blow over somehow.

Eddie’s obviously taken on a leadership position in their little group. He’s the DM, he runs the show. But we don’t have a sense that he’s got a second-in-command or a trusted advisor that he confides in, much less someone he sees as a true peer in a give-and-take way.

Again, I don’t think any of this means he doesn’t like the Corroded Coffin boys. On the contrary, I think he probably cares about them very much in the same way he loves Dustin. My read on Eddie is that he sees himself as a protector who is in some way responsible for them and their well-being, cultivating an interdependent community that he doesn’t really get to partake in. His sense of self-worth lies in his ability to be a shield, standing between his lost little sheep and the wolves of Hawkins. He draws fire and takes the hits, and that’s a very lonely position to be in.

And then…Steve Harrington.

[wishing-stones]

how did you come with the plot for r&r? its so nicely written and i constantly struggle with coming up with plots for multichapter fics despite desperately wanting to write one, so im wondering what your process was?

This one got long

Originally, the plot came about from a one-word prompt done for my oneshot collection. The story wound up with more background to it than I intended, and I decided to try and fill it out a little more. I'm kind of old-fashioned, so I used a plot diagram and slapped the important bits in there before thinking about what all else I'd like to put in a story like this.

Picking a villain was pretty easy; who is stupid and/or ballsy enough to pick a serious fight with Nightmare? XGaster, who could be made a main antagonist easily. He also has the added bonus of having a personal investment in fighting Nightmare (Cross) That gave me my conflict, and filling out what needed to happen between that and the resolution got handled too.

I knew I wanted this to be a reverse harem sort of dealio, so everyone needed to have their own arc with the reader. Everyone needed to have character development. To do that with Nightmare meant having to include his brother, and it gave me an avenue to do their resolution and also include the stars. Killer and Cross needed to come to an understanding, but after realizing that would only really come about after they go to blows, they needed a doctor.

Enter Baggs, who I have sort of stuck with the Bad Sanses for a hot minute in my own sort of personal plot space and in general thought mess. Formally including him would also just be a nice little self-indulgent thing since he's a seriously bastardly brainrot. It also gave me an excuse to work with him more, and, unintentionally though it was, introduce more people to him and his AU.

With the cast figured out, I could start placing little scenes I wanted to happen in the appropriate places on the timeline. As I wrote it, some things were off-the-cuff, some things popped up early, some things got nixed, and a whole character who I hadn't originally intended to include got included anyway due to source material being released between plotting and writing (XChara.)

The actual ending got pulled out of my ass because I only had a couple bulletpoints for the post-fight resolutions. There's a couple whump lines there I'm especially proud of.

That being said, there's a couple continuity errors that need fixing and places where things didn't quite go according to plan, so always be prepared to compromise and fix in post. I also never had a beta reader and basically went "FUCK IT WE BALL" with every update. (I did re-read them and fine-tune them after the initial write before posting them, but that's it.)

In short, the process was: 1. Come up with the initial idea 2. Refine the idea (Starting point, rising action, conflict, resolution) 3. Place the idea on a plot diagram 4. Figure out scenes you want and place them accordingly 5. Figure out how characters are (or are not) going to change and place the catalysts for the actions and where/when their arcs will conclude/when they have gone through their development 6. Pad it out-- make scenes connect and plot points make sense 7. Start writing. Keep writing. Pace yourself. You'll finish it eventually and with a roadmap, you'll always know where you're going. Feel free to embellish on the details and don't be afraid to move things up or back in the progression of the plot if it makes more sense while writing it.

And if there's anything I've learned from this, it's that:

a. Your audience is a lot nicer than you think they are. You are absolutely your own worst critic. b. Don't be afraid of mistakes, just go with the flow. You can edit things in post when you re-read it, even if that's after you posted it.

I really hope this helps!

[newtmas-fest]

NEWTMAS FEST REVEALS!

Here we are, with the REVEALS for the 2022 edition of Newtmas fest!!

Thank you for following and/or participating in our fest! We hope to see you on our next edition too! To always be updated on our fest, follow us here on Tumblr. 

Help us program our next edition by responding to this google form. 

And now for you the complete list of our submissions, no longer anonymous!

☆ and though I can’t recall your name (I still got love for you) [General Audiences - 4,159 w] by achwieloustig

https://archiveofourown.org/works/43657561

Summary: Based on prompt 03: Ever since he was sent up in the Box, Newt has dreams about a brown-haired boy whose name he doesn’t know. In the map room, he sketches the strange boy on bits of scrap paper. The other Keepers tease him about his ‘dream-man’. Then one day the Box comes up with a Greenie (Thomas), who looks exactly like the face on Newt’s drawings.

☆ If you say you want me, I can make you mine [Teen and Up Audience - 3,931 w] by Introvertedintellect350 @book-and-music-lover

https://archiveofourown.org/works/43759629

Summary: Thomas Greene finds himself questioning everything he thinks he knows about himself when one Newton Isaacs walks into his life. But on the annual Christmas Eve Ball, he worries he may have ruined everything after the last time they spoke weeks earlier.In which Thomas comes to several revelations over the course of as many months in regards to the boy who might just be more than a friend.

A Regency-Era AU.

☆ Our Love is Like No Other [General Audience - 1,269 w] by  blueeyedwonder7

https://archiveofourown.org/works/43872832

Summary: Thomas helped take down WCKD no problem, this very important question he had to ask Newt?? He was worried to say the least.

☆ Truth or Dare? [General Audiences - 2,294 w] by Itsthemaze @itsthemxze

https://archiveofourown.org/works/43884715

Summary: During a drunken game of Truth or Dare, Newt tells the story of his first kiss, with a boy named Thomas he lost contact with. Well, it just so happens that Minho knows a Thomas, and it being 2AM on a weekday is not going to deter him from seeing if it’s the same one. For Newt’s sake, of course.

☆ twin flame [Mature - 13,058 w] by FilisMaze @filismaze

https://archiveofourown.org/works/44024550/chapters/110693271

Summary: Involuntarily, he reached into his pocket, jabbed his fingertips against the wooden figure he was carrying for Thomas, before finding the note which lay below. It had become a habit in a short time, a constant need to make sure it was still there. And with the horrifying image of the dead woman and the grieving man in mind, Newt made a decision. Abruptly he stopped, bringing Thomas to a halt as well who turned to him in surprise. “I need to talk to you, Tommy. Just you. It’ll only take a second.” 

or: Newt learns he isn't immune to the Flare and decides to take precautions. Thomas does not like this.

☆ a rhapsody for you and my (our symphony) [Mature - 6,700 w] by flemoncake @go-catch-a-chickn

https://archiveofourown.org/works/44065372

Summary: This realization hits him like lightning. It has always been there. But it’s them standing together over the corpse of a greedy WICKED spy, the tunes of an old country song vibrating in their chests and blood rushing through their ears, mixing shock and relief that make him understand: Thomas would do anything for Newt. Anything to keep him safe. It’s as simple as that. 

or: 5 times music helps Thomas to realize he's in love with Newt + 1 time music helps Newt to show Thomas that their love is real

☆ star wars au [Digital Art: Moodboard/Edit] by @newtedison

https://newtedison.tumblr.com/post/707438806465445888/star-wars-au-thomas-is-a-rebel-who-needs-a

Summary: thomas is a rebel who needs a reminder of what he’s fighting for. newt is a scrapper who needs someone to fight for him.

[nocturnalghoul]

Mushy May Day 27: Game Night

A little something about the ghouls having a weekly ttrpg game (in this case Monster of the Week). Cirrus takes over running the weekly game and is feeling a bit imposter syndrome-y but the enthusiasm of her pack quickly shows her she had nothing to worry about.

I tried to make it rules-light enough that even if you have never played MOTW or any ttrpg it should still be followable.

Also a quick little tag for @ghouletteanon because you had asked me to way back at the beginning of the month :)

Words: 699

Rating: Gen/ Everyone

Read below the cut or on AO3 here

The ghouls have been playing their current Monster of the Week game for a few sessions now, and Cirrus was extremely pleased with how it was progressing. For a while Dew had been DM’ing a game of DND for about half the other ghouls, but they all had to stop when everyone's dice kept “mysteriously” disappearing. They pretended it was a mystery but really Rain was stealing all the dice that were pretty and hiding them around his room, and Mountain wouldn’t stop eating the others. Soon enough there were just normal standard bulk set d6s left so they decided to switch to another system. 

Cirrus had taken over the helm of GM since they switched to the new system and it was a lot so far, but luckily the pack has been super supportive. Everyone finally seems to have a decent grip of the new rule system and character classes so she finally can start to get into the proper mystery. Running a game is a bit more nerve wracking than playing in one though and Cirrus has been struggling to keep up her normal collected confidence as she runs the game.

She finishes up describing the large sprawling labyrinth below the main city the characters find themselves in and starts humming the soft eerie notes of a melody faintly heard down one of the pathways. Once she looks up away from her notes she notices the way that everyone at the table, as well as Aether and Cumulus who were playing cards on the other side of the ghouls den are all looking at her completely enraptured. There is a sense of pride that bubbles up inside her as her confidence in her abilities solidify slightly. 

“So, how do you guys proceed?” she prompts after wrapping up the haunting tune. Everyone just blinks at her for a second before remembering oh yeah it's a collaborative effort and getting back to the game. They explore the large labyrinth for a while, until finally getting to a point of interest that whatever monster they are looking for clearly just vacated, Cirrus laying heavy details of all the general mayhem of the area and the scuttering sound that while present before is now gone. 

Sunny rolls uncharacteristically well in her attempt to investigate. As she composes her thoughts on what to ask, Cirrus can’t help but smile as she shuffles a few papers around. Luckily the way everyone tries to investigate leads to exactly what she was hoping for. 

“All of the clutter in the chamber seems to point to one centralized area. In the dead center of it you find this.” Cirrus narrates beaming. She pulls out a wrinkled stained piece of paper with burn marks along the edges from a tiny wooden box and hands both items to Sunny. 

“You made fucking physical props for this?!” Dew immediately shouts out, attempting to take the paper from Sunny to read aloud. “Shit Cir’ you are killing it. Making my old half-assed effort look bad.” 

Dew reads what appears to be a diary page relating to the strange occurrences aloud. Just as Rain and Mountain begin to argue over what it all could mean, Copia walks in interrupting the flow of conversation. 

“I know it is game night, but I really need to borrow Swiss for 10 minutes at most real quick” he sheepishly tells them. Cirrus begins to say that’s fine and that they can all just take a break real quick, but the rest of the people playing immediately launch into complaints about how important story things are happening and can’t Copia wait a little bit so that they can sort everything out. 

Cirrus re-asserts that they can just take a break and watches as Swiss sighs and moves to follow Copia. “Fine, but nothing better happen while I’m gone.” he grumbles as the two walk off. 

Whatever doubts Cirrus was having about her ability to run the game are squashed as she watches everyone playing last maybe 20 seconds before they launch into thoughts and ideas about what's happening based on the diary entry.

Swiss does in fact, miss out on a lot while he is gone.

[bravevolunteer]

GET  TO  KNOW  THE  MUN.

WHAT  MADE  YOU  PICK  UP  THE  MUSE  YOU  HAVE  ?   well you see i liked fnaf and its lore a normal amount until one night after security breach boosted the fandom i thought a little bit Too Hard while staring at the ceiling and decided to add michael afton the next day-

IS  THERE  ANYTHING  YOU  DON'T  LIKE  TO  WRITE  ?  aside from the obvious? in spite of writing a marvel character for years straight i also suck at constant action with nothing else going on (aside from figuring out how to phrase it i really struggle knowing how far to go in those kinds of replies without overstepping what the other muse would do if that makes sense), which is great because for as much as michael gets into fights he is Just A Guy. and uh... for michael specifically, given the ambiguity of fnaf, there are some ideas that i'm not on board with because they don't align with how i see the story you know?

IS  THERE  ANYTHING  YOU  REALLY  ENJOY  WRITING  ?   angst and hurt/comfort sorry i am a predictable bitch i'll eat it up every single time. the softness hits harder when it comes with or after excruciating pain

HOW  DO  YOU  COME  UP  WITH  YOUR  HEADCANONS  ?  possession yeah. i can't force them they just occur to me in sudden visions. who said that.

DO  YOU  WRITE  IN  SILENCE  OR  LISTEN  TO  MUSIC  ?   music always i CANNOT write in silence, i barely Exist in silence. usually i'll use a character playlist (stupid amount of michael ones), however if it's overstimulating and makes writing more difficult i'll loop specific songs that set the mood but i can tune out for the most part

DO  YOU  PLAN  YOUR  REPLIES  OR  WING  THEM  ?   somewhere in between? i definitely like to plot things out, ESPECIALLY with michael, however i prefer plotting that leans closer towards discussing overall dynamics or the general vibe/direction of a thread. i will not hesitate to go super in depth there. while i rotate them in my head constantly before i write the reply, i tend not to go too far discussing a Hyper Specific prompt though because then i'll avoid writing it (both because i've already discussed it so much and i end up hyping it up to the point where i've set impossible standards)

DO  YOU  ENJOY  SHIPPING  ?   yes :) all kinds :)

WHAT'S  YOUR  ALIAS/NAME  ?   ash which is just. my name. real nickname. it's not that interesting of a story DKFHFJDS however if i were to start going by an alias online my favorite option has always been atlas

AGE  ?   21

BIRTHDAY  ?  october 17

FAVORITE  COLOR  ?   always changes because something's wrong with me. been a sage green enjoyer lately like the gay person i am ( but most of my clothes are black )

FAVORITE  SONG  ?   soooo many so you're getting my 2023 winners: song was not strong enough boygenius but my favorite Album was unreal unearth

LAST  MOVIE  YOU  WATCHED  ?   humiliatingly enough i. Think it was the fnaf movie ( at 3am on call while going insane ) i don't think i've watched one since then

LAST  SHOW  YOU  WATCHED  ?   oh god my brain hasn't been letting me watch anything new lately but i THINK it was trying to watch infinity train and then giving up because of that lmao. if podcasts count i'm relistening to tma-

LAST  SONG  YOU  LISTENED  TO  ?  ... once more to see you mitski

FAVORITE  SEASON  ?   autumn

DO  YOU  HAVE  A  TUMBLR  BEST  FRIEND  ?   i have so many beloved close friends i've met on tumblr i can't just list ONE

tagged by: @mischiiefs tagging: yea mak you stole a good chunk of the crew just steal it from me idk DHJFSJDF

[blakeshaw-oracle]

How many WIPS do you have? What are they for? Like are they over specific prompts or?

[Note from after-writing εϊз : This turned out a lot longer than I thought. Apparently, I had a lot of things to say!! This kind of turned into a general update on everything I've been doing lately 😊]

As of right now, in a digital sense, I only have two WIPs fully planned out and mostly written.

The first is that one Shadow Monster! Al AU that I was talking about a while back on my blog. It was originally supposed to be for a dead dove Kinktober list but obviously it didn't work out that way lmao-- It's most likely going to end up being 6 chapters and at the moment I'm working on the last part of Chapter 5! I've made up two separate docs of what I have written so far (one for my beta since it's not edited yet and the other for my friends over in the Alfinn server)!!

The premise of the fic is that Al is a shadow monster whose species are called "Grabbers". Their purpose (basically) is to haunt the dreams of troubled children and torment them until they're broken down enough to steal their souls. But, one day, Al tunes in to Finney's energy and decides to stay back a bit and observe him first. During this, Al decides that Finney isn't like all the other children he's "visited" before and devises a different plan for this time around. Instead of stealing just the boy's soul, Al wants to steal him.

Then, the second (actually planned and partly written) WIP is for a drabble request that I got from one of you guys! [I'm so sorry I haven't been posting any for a hot second; my brain is being very mean to me rn] It's NSFW so I won't give a lot of detail rn but it's for a foursome between Al, Max, Robin, and Finney! Max & Robin and then Finney & Al are dating. They're all living in Al's house (it's me, I mean... come on, of course they are) together at the time and the walls aren't exactly soundproof. Tomfoolery ensues.

Other than those two that I've actually started on, I have around 9 (give or take) drabble requests still sitting in my inbox that I plan on getting to when I can! I'm gonna do my best to start on the oldest ones first since some of them have been there for a while. Again, I'm doing my best to catch up on them!!

Lastly (I know, it's a lot), I also also have a shit ton of other ideas for the ship that I really want to work on when I'm not busy with other things! The top priority is helping out a few of my Blakeshaw buddies by bouncing ideas around for them for their own stories. Me and one of the besties in particular have a spicy daycare AU going on atm that we actually just talked about earlier today! He already wrote and posted the first oneshot he made for it and asked if I would beta the following parts for him; I of course agreed! So even though I'm not technically the one writing it, I'm still helping my friend with ideas!! A few of us in the server actually came up with the AU in the first place so it's kind of like a group project that went up for grabs. There's even a different person who is also writing for this AU but their idea differs from the og concept and is super fucking interesting in its own right!! I'm very excited for both of them 💕

As for my own personal ideas that I want to write for eventually 👀 I'm very fucking invested in the idea of a Neighbor!/Boy Next Door! Finney fic. We all know how much I love the Everything is Kinda Ok Verse, after all. (Obviously I'd go with my own points of interest for the plot; I've already chatted with the og writer of it [✒️] before about that!!) -- Then, the other idea that I've talked about (and still need to write a general break-down for) is The Shaw Household AU where Al/Finney and Max/Robin are all living in the same house for a bit. It's very much just a slice-of-life domesticity type of thing but I really like it!

I also (a lot of "also's" today lmao) have many other more dead dove plots in my devious little brain but, I digress. Basically, there's a lot of shit I want to dive into-- I just need to plan everything and get the proper motivation to actually start working on them!!

I have a lot of free time these days so I'm fairly confident I can at least finish the already started WIPs at some point in the near future! Then, priority will go to my asks (I still want to attempt to at least mockup some drafts for a few of them in between other stuff)!!

Anyways, sorry for turning your ask into a blabber post! I hope you got the general answers that you wanted lmao ❤️

- εϊз

[chaotic-orphan]

Dec. 8th prompt: Freezing (Whump)

Orion’s Army

Okay so this started off as part of a prompt calendar challenge but! It actually created a story, I saw Whump and just ran with it completely forgetting about the freezer? like who knew naming your characters made you love them more? And gave them more character? And personality?

Crazy. Every author should do it. But I digress…

I hope you Enjoy, Orion’s army!!! I loved writing it

There will be more soon don’t even worry

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**~

“Jack?”

His name was whispered in the darkness of the room. Jack stared at the bunk above him, only barely seeing the lats.

“Jack?” Whispered again, more urgently this time. “Are you awake?”

“Yeah,” Jack whispered back, rolling his eyes.

“I don’t want to fight tomorrow.”

“Me either.”

“But you’re good at fighting,” Cadan insisted.

“Yeah,” Jack said drawing the blanket closer to him,“I know.”

“Do you think Orion will pair us together?”

Maybe if we did I’d be able to not sleep in silence, Jack thought then immediately regretted it. For a second a horrible though crossed the boy’s mind,

Instead he let out a sigh, “I don’t know Cadan.”

“You’ll probably be fine,” another voice piped up. Fallon. She was tough too, like Jack, but even Jack didn’t want to be paired with her tomorrow. Jack could hold back when he had to, Fallon was lethal. “Just go for the eyes, Cade.”

“Or the legs,” Jack offered.

“Or the shield if you’re Malachai-“

“That was one time,” a sleepy voice mumbled in the corner and the room was full of quiet giggles.

Then someone said, “I miss my mom,” and the room went silent again until morning.

—————————————————————

“Good morning children!” A bellowing voice pulled Jack from his slumber, but there wasn’t time to be groggy. Jack was on his feet, his bed made, standing in line with the rest of the kids in a matter of seconds.

“Jack,” Orion purred, sauntering over towards him. For his age, Jack was small. Smaller than Fallon who he stood beside, and she was only two years older. But even to Fallon Orion was a giant. “Sloppy wake up call, did you have a good rest?”

Jack didn’t meet his eyes. “Yes sir.”

“Good.” Orion rose to full height again, walking to the middle to greet the other kids with his snide remarks. Jack didn’t really care at this point what he said or did. To him, Orion was equally horrible to everyone who had the misfortune of knowing him. So Jack only had to listen once to get the general idea of what other nasty things he was saying.

One time he made Cadan cry. Jack stopped listening after that.

Jack tuned back in when Orion clapped his hands, an awful glint in his eyes.

“I’m sure you’re all dying to know who’s paired with who today, aren’t you?”

“Yes sir.” The response was immediate and it made Orion’s smile grow so wide you could see his pointed animal like teeth. Like a shark’s smile, dead behind the eyes- so sharp it could cut you with only words.

“Well usually I leave it fairly balanced. But today we have visitors-“ that got everyone’s attention. Jack swallowed hard, steeling himself for further shock. Even if his hands trembled behind his back, what Orion couldn’t see wouldn’t hurt him.

“Yes, visitors. And they want to see you all perform to your best of your abilities. So we will have a little tournament, so to speak.”

Jack’s heart dropped to the bottom of his chest. That meant everyone was fighting today. It didn’t matter if Cadan wanted to or not. Or if Fallon’s knuckles were still bloody from being the last fighter yesterday. It didn’t matter that you were a kid, not to Orion. All he saw were soldiers.

“Sir, what if we lose?” Jack closed his eyes. Of course Cadan would ask such a stupid question.

“Why would you ask such a stupid question, Cadan.”

“I just meant-“

The sound of a slap resounded around the dead silent room. Jack opened his eyes, staring ahead. Steel. Steel. Steel. Steel.

“Again. With less attitude, or I just might make you the appetiser to Caolan and Atticus.”

Always with the wolves. Orion only threatened Cadan with the wolves because he was bit by one before and has been terrified ever since.

“I’m sorry sir. I meant no disrespect.”

“Go on,” Orion said.

“The tournament sir, is it knockout?”

Orion’s grin turned the sharpest Jack had ever seen.

“Quite literally boy.”

———————————————

They were getting ready in the pit. Jack throwing his armour on haphazardly. Not wanting to do this. Again.

He was tired of winning. Tired of hurting the little kids. Hearing them cry. Tired of Fallon’s flash of fear. Tired of Cadan’s pleas for mercy.

It made him feel like a monster.

That’s what Orion had made him into. It wasn’t his fault that the others couldn’t get better than him. Orion only ever let them train alone, so the same mistakes got repeated in fight after fight.

Jack just had to steel himself. He would be fine. It was everyone else he was worried about.

Across the way he saw Valerie and Seth trying to hold the weight of the sparring sword in one hand. Seth’s arms were skinny, and he was tiny. No higher than Jack’s waist, and Valerie was younger and smaller. She could hold the sword in one hand, and the shield in the other, meeting Jack’s eyes from across the way.

If Jack could look in the mirror he thinks he’d see the same grim determination set in them.

The thought scared him too much to think about for too long.

A slap on the back had him pulled into a side hug from Malachai. “I’m gonna beat you today, Jack. I can feel it.”

“Do you want me to go shieldless?”

“Ah you’re just being mean. Fallon talks big-“

“She hits harder,” Jack agreed. Malachai laughed putting his hand in Jack’s hair and tussling it.

“How would you know hot shot?” Jack smiled ready for another retort when he caught Orion’s eyes behind Malachai. They were not pleased.

“Jack. A word.” That was all he said before turning on his heel and walking away from the pit. Jack followed him, half running to keep pace.

“Sir?” Jack asked.

“These visitors Jack, they are very important to us. To you. They provide us with the necessary resources to feed us and clothe us and keep us all safe and warm.”

Orion paused for effect. Jack wasn’t supposed to speak, so he didn’t.

“I told them about you Jack. How good you are, and one of them challenged my faith in you.”

Jack frowned. A pit forming in the hollow of his stomach. He never ate before fights. This was why. Orion always had to do something that would set him on edge before hand.

“Sir?” was all he said.

“He saw the pit and everyone getting ready and asked me to point you out. So I did. And do you know what he said, Jack?”

Jack remained silent.

“He said sure I could fight too if I had that heavy leather armour on me.”

There it was. The caveat of the tournament. Jack had barely registered what Orion had said before he was grabbing Jack’s sword and shield, putting them on the bench beside them and waiting for Jack to pull the armour off.

Jack hesitated for just a second. “Am I being punished sir?”

“Punished? No! No my boy. You are my greatest achievement. My crowning jewel. You need to wow this crowd once and then we’ll all be in your corner hmm?”

Jack grabbed the armour to stop his hands from shaking and pulled it over his head, and into the waiting arms of Orion. He bent to pick up his shield and sword, but Orion tsked and Jack paled.

“The- sir the vambraces-“

“Oh no, don’t worry about them dear boy. I don’t want you crippled no.” Jack could cry with relief. “Just the shield.”

“Sir-“

“You are my favourite Jack but right now you are getting on my last nerves. Shield. Now.”

Jack was moving before Orion even finished his sentence. Just like a perfect little soldier. Perfect little robot. Perfect little lethal weapon.

His stomach turned as he stood. Naked with only his sword and bracers.

“Thatta boy, Jack . Now go on, wow them. You’re first up.”

So Jack did that.

He walked out from the pit into the small arena. The sun was low in the pale winter sky and Jack breathed in a breath of fresh air and smiled, gripping the sword tightly.

One day, he’d be free.

Then he saw his opponent.

———————

Cadan faced with pure terror on his face, it stopped Jack in his tracks.

“Jack? Ah Jesus, are ya serious? Why aren’t you in armour? Where’s your shield?”

Jack just shook his head. “Be quiet Cadan,” he said, a desperate plea as could be heard from Jack. “We need to put on a show.”

“A show? You’re not even dressed? How is this fair?”

Before Cadan could mewl another unfairity of their life Jack lunged swiping at Cadan’s feet who jumped back just in time.

Jack advanced, speaking quietly with Cadan throughout the fight.

“Just make it look real,” Jack pleaded. “Make it look real and then when I hit you stay down.”

Cadan didn’t have to be told twice. They sparred some more. Jack trying to manoeuvre around Cadan’s sloppy swings without a shield nearly took his eye out a couple of times until he got a bash of Cadan’s shield to the chest taking all the wind out of him.

“Jack! Shit-” Cadan said.

Shit was right. Cadan had never actually hit Jack before. In the stands he could see Orion smiling, as another man whispered in his ear.

A show. That’s all he wanted. To see Jack fail, and then come back from it.

Fine.

When Cadan reached down to help Jack up, Jack grabbed his arm pulling Cadan down with him and rolling on top of him.

“Okay. Dead.” Jack said, as he lifted Cadan’s head and slammed it down against the sand. Or made it look like he did anyway.

A round of applause sounded from the stands and Jack stood, hoisting Cadan up under his armpits and dragging him back into the pit.

“Jack why aren’t you wearing armour?”

“That was a bit rough mate…”

“How did he even get a hit on you?”

When they got through the doors, Jack dropped Cadan who let out a squeak.

“Orion wants a show. He told me himself. That’s why I’m not in armour. He wants me hurt. So do your worst. Hurt me as much as you can. Try get me out. Whatever it is Orion’s planning- I don’t care about it.”

“Jack-“ it was Fallon’s voice protesting, but Jack shook his head.

“He’s right,” said Valerie. Her voice high but determined. She looked at Jack. “When I’m up against you I won’t go easy.”

Jack actually smiled at that. “Thanks Val.”

She nodded in response.

Then her and Seth’s name was called and she grabbed Seth’s hand in one of hers and walked out.

Seth couldn’t carry a shield, so Valerie didn’t either. Not for this fight. Which only lasted a couple seconds. Malachai came in with Seth’s body followed by a despondent Valerie.

No one said anything. There was nothing to say.

“If any of you go easy on me for being younger, I’ll leave you with scars,” she warned.

Fallon and another girl fought next. Fallon the Victor, carrying her victim into the pit. Jack was surprised when they crossed the doors that Carla opened her eyes. Grinning up at Jack. Her arms were bloodied but only with shallow cuts. Jack smiled back at them.

“The show must go on,” Carla said dramatically, going to sit beside Seth and Cadan.

Okay this was good. The weak ones were getting knocked out leaving only the strong.

Malachai, Fallon, Jack and Valerie were left, and at this rate Jack would rather take Fallon than Valerie.

But it was fine because Orion wanted a show. So he grouped Malachai and Jack and Valerie and Fallon.

Valerie and Fallon were up first and Jack couldn’t watch it. Instead he turned to Malachai who had that same confident smile as if everything was going to be fine.

“You alright, little brother?” Only Malachai called him little brother. Malachai was the oldest, so everyone was little brother or sister to him. Which was fine because no one else did, and even after he told Malachai to stop he kept doing it anyway. Cadan had tried once and got a punch to the arm.

“You’re getting your wish,” Jack said with a wry smile. “I’m shieldless.”

“Shieldless and still strong as steel, I know what you’re trying to do,” Malachai hummed, watching the fight. “Make me drop my guard, it’s not happening Jackaboy. No sir. This time,” Malachai turned to face Jack then, crouching so Jack could see his mismatched eyes and their gleam of mischief.

“I’ll win.”

Malachai’s grin was infectious so Jack returned it. A hand on the back of his neck was comforting. “You’re good, Jack. You’re a good kid. Y’know I remember being a kid, outside I mean. You’re even good compared to them.”

“Do you think he’ll ever let us go?” Jack dared to ask. His voice coming out so quiet it barely brushed his lips.

“I think he will. One day. He doesn’t have us training for nothing. I’ve seen stranger- oh shit!”

Jack turned, following Malachai’s eyes to see Fallon on the ground. Unmoving. Valerie on top of her, shield gone, blood on her hands and running her sword.

Malachai was out the door in a flash, leaving Jack stupefied behind. Fallon didn’t even look like her chest was moving. Malachai scooped her up into his arms and brought her back in, Valerie in tow. Baffled just as much as Jack was.

When she met Jack’s eyes hers welled up, “I didn’t meant to hurt her that bad. But she was going easy on me, she tried not to hurt me. I should’ve-“

Jack grabbed Valerie and brought her in for a hug sword clattering to the ground as her sobs filled the pit.

“It’s okay Val,” Jack said. “You had to do it.” Over Valerie’s head, Jack could see everyone crowded around Fallon, making sure she was still breathing.

Malachai looked up at him from across the way, his eyes trailing to the girl in his arms, and something almost hateful crossed his face. Jack couldn’t say, because the moment he blinked the expression was gone.

—————————

“Now the boys!”

As they walked out Jack tried to catch Malachai’s eye, but he stared resolutely ahead, a sword in each hand. He never liked shields, thought they were too slow. But with Malachai’s strength he didn’t need them, and this was the one fight Jack was actually worried about.

“Malachai, she had to do it. She didn’t mean it, she’s just a kid,” Jack whispered desperately, but that look was in Malachai’s eyes. That cold fury burning behind his pupil.

“I know.”

“BEGIN!”

Malachai’s twin blades came down hard on Jack’s, who had swung his up in the knick of time, using his other hand to push against Malachai’s weight.

“But Fallon doesn’t deserve that,” Malachai said, barely breaking a sweat.

“Either does Valerie,” Jack said through gritted teeth. His heels dug into the sand of the arena, and he knew this was a lost cause, so with one massive shove he threw his weight against Malachai’s swords which didn’t do much except give Jack enough time to roll free of their locked blades.

He was getting to his feet when he got a boot to the face, and it threw him off course. His hands flying out behind him ready to push up if Malachai hadn’t hooked his leg with his own and topple Jack onto his back again.

Jack brought his sword up in defence. Malachai didn’t advance further just stood above him, like a shadow of vengeance. He slipped his blade back along his arms, manoeuvring the hilt so he had a good grip on and Jack’s eyes went wide.

“Malachai he just wants a show,” Jack hissed, kicking at Malachai’s shins, but that didn’t deter Malachai so Jack aimed his leg higher and aimed for his stomach.

Malachai caught Jack’s leg and Jack swung out with his sword, hitting Malachai’s vambraces.

“Come on little brother, just play dead.”

“Then promise you won’t hurt Valerie.”

“She asked us not to go easy on her.”

“Fallon will be fine!” Malachai’s eyes flashed at that.

“So will Valerie.”

Malachai swung the blunt hilt down towards Jack’s head, and Jack followed the motion back evading it getting his other leg under Malachai’s stomach and using his motion to throw him over Jack’s shoulder.

Malachai went rolling, and Jack sprung to his feet, rolling his shoulders and bouncing on his heels. He gripped the sword tight in his hands, chancing a glance at the stalls to see Orion sitting with his legs spread, head in his hands and his elbows resting on his knees. Something entirely too eager and captivating in his view.

Then Orion’s eyes flicked and Jack brought his arm up, blocking Malachai’s barrage, not dropping eye contact. Jack got an elbow to the nose for his arrogance and he stumbled back, eyes watering as Malachai advanced anger in his stride.

Jack threw his sword up but Malachai punched him in the face again, grabbing his arm with one hand and twisting his wrist until he dropped the sword. Jack cried out as Malachai pulled his arm forward, slicing his chest with his sword.

Without getting a breath Malachai fixed his boot over the wound and kicked. Jack went down the wind being knocked out of him, and he didn’t have time to blink before Malachai was on him, arms on his wrists pinning him with his weight.

Despite his predicament Jack let out a small wheeze of laughter, “You’ve been holding back you prick.”

Malachai flashed a smile, “I’m sorry little brother. I’m pissed and you never know when to quit.”

“But you’re not pissed at me,” Jack said and Malachai frowned and loosened his grip.

“Punch me make it look real.”

He had barely finished his sentence before Jack was wrestling out of his grip punching him across the cheek. Jack didn’t flinch, but Malachai finally grit his teeth securing Jack’s wrist against the sand.

“Good. Keep struggling and talk.”

“We can go for Orion.”

“Do I need to hit you again?”

“We can!” Jack insisted. “This way neither of us have to fight Valerie okay?”

“It’s still about Valerie?” Malachai asked, holding Jack’s wrists with one hand and reaching back for a discarded sword.

“Yes!”

“Why! Why are you protecting her over Fallon?”

“Because…”

Malachai shook his head. “Forget it,” he said softly. “I’m with you, whatever you have planned.”

“Okay, just follow my lead.”

Malachai nodded, and got off him. Handing Jack his sword and picking up both of his. Orion stood immediately, eyes flashing and Jack’s heart pounded in his ears.

Orion looked furious, already seeing where this was going.

“Did I say stop?” Orion asked, his hands curling into fists by his side.

“No,” said Jack. “I did. We’re not fighting. The tournaments over.”

“Oh dear boy-” Orion tsked, shaking his head slowly. The doors to the pit opened behind them and Cadan was there, sword and shield in hand coming to the rescue when bars slid down over the door locking them outside the arena. More pressing locking Jack and Malachai inside the arena.

Jack was distinctly aware of his lack of armour but he had started now. No point in running and hiding. He was sick of doing what Orion wanted of him.

“Resume the fight, now. Or I’ll unleash the hounds.”

“I’m not afraid of the dogs, Orion,” Jack said, fighting the flinch of saying his name out loud instead of sir. His back growing warm from the lashes of the belt Orion had inflicted on him to make him learn his place. Learn that Orion was only to be addressed as sir.

Jack could even feel Malachai look at him from the corner of his eye, readjusting his hands on his blades.

“I’m with you little brother,” he whispered and Jack’s heart slammed again, this time with courage.

Orion smiled, his eyes cruel. “I didn’t say I’d release the hounds on you, boy.”

Jack’s eyes went wide, turning just in time to heat Cadan scream. Jack ran to the bars, Malachai on his heels, trying to see over Cadan’s shoulder to see the dogs blocking the exit to the pit and all the kids locked inside. Valerie standing in front of them all, her shield up. The dogs were too strong and tall for her, she’d be ripped apart.

“Orion, call them off!” Malachai yelled over his shoulder, but Orion sat back down, content.

“You can call them off, boys. Resume your fight.”

“Cadan, listen to me,” Malachai began softly. “They’re just dogs okay, bash them with your shield.”

“I- I c- can’t. Kai, I can’t.”

“Yes you can. You can, listen, you can do this Cadan.”

“One of them will get me.”

“You must, Cadan,” Jack said. “Valerie’s too small, they’ll kill her if they get a bite at her. You have to do this. You can do it, otherwise everyone in there. Fallon. Seth. They’re going to be attacked too. Like you were-”

Cadan was shaking as one of the dogs rammed Valerie’s shield and she stumbled back, getting closer to the bars.

“We can’t help you, Cade. You can do this,” Malachai encouraged, putting a hand through the bars and on Cadan’s shoulder squeezing it.

Valerie’s shield clattered to the ground then and was swinging her sword wildly.

“Jack!” Valerie screamed.

“We-” Jack began licking his lips, but he was cut off by Malachai saying

“No, we’re not. You’re right. Cade can do this. No more giving Orion what he wants.”

One of the dogs yelped as Carla stepped in, kicking the dog closest to Valerie in the snout. Then Atticus the bigger of the two dogs turned on Carla. She raised her shield just as Atticus jumped at her.

“Anytime, Cadan!” Carla ground out, pushing her weight against the wolf dog.

“See? You just need to help Valerie, Cadan.”

“Now, Cadan!” Jack yelled, pushing him forward and Cadan slammed his shield down in front of Valerie pushing her back.

“FUCK!” Cadan screamed as Caolan barrelled into his shield.

“Your ankles! Protect your ankles!” Jack screamed.

Malachai grunted beside Jack and Jack hadn’t registered the noise until he was yanked backwards by someone behind him. Jack threw an elbow back, but a hand hooked around the crook of his elbow and yanked his arm behind his back.

Jack threw his head back then and heard a grunt when it made contact with a chest. He grinned. The hands on him turned him around to face Orion, and all blood dropped from his face as he saw Orion with Malachai at his feet being held with a sword at his neck.

Orion tugged Malachai’s head up higher, pressing the sword in until it drew blood.

“Stop!” Jack snapped, struggling harder against his captor.

Orion tsked. “I thought I taught you better, Jack. And Malachai, look what you’ve done to him. My pride and joy. My first success. You turn on me the moment a boy says boo?”

“Go fuck yourself,” said Malachai, which earned him a punch to the face. Orion sighed drawing his fist back, and repositioning the blade under Malachai’s throat.

“Right. Re-breaking in it is. Knock the boy out, he’ll cause trouble if he’s conscious.”

That only made Jack struggle harder, until he got a whack to the side of his head and the world grew dark and muddy.

[udaberriwrites]

1. What made you start writing fanfic? 

So in the days of old, back before AO3 was the juggernaut it is now, there was a manga called D Gray Man. And in one of the early arcs, they introduced this guy:

He was friends with one of the main cast, he was perpetually happy and willing to tease the serious characters, he had hope for the future, he was so cool. My young naïve self, being yet unfamiliar with the ways of evil writers, got attached.

... only for him to be gruesomely killed a handful of chapters later in order to highlight the tragedy of the main character.

So yes, my first fic was an awful, awful self-insert AU (thankfully lost to time), where a minor character introduced for a cheap death got to have a happy(ish) ending xD

6. Name three stories you found easy to write.

Easy-to-write, huh... you know, as much as I bemoan my general slowness when it comes to fic writing, some of them were definitely easier than others!

A Tune Without Words: My first Hades fic, this one took over my brain as soon as I managed to get past Hades for the first time. As such, it's actually not fully canon-complaint, as it does rely on Greek myth for some aspects that the game answered differently... but this was one of those fics that force you to write the key-points on the back of a grocery list just to be able to get them out of your head xD

Agency: Similarly, this DS9 fic was written almost entirely on bus rides, as I had a long weekly commute at the time. Maybe it was the lack of outside distractions, but this one just flowed really smoothly for me!

Bésame Mucho: I wasn't kidding when I said that the Year of the OTP prompt bullied all my other projects and stole their lunch money. I don't know why it clicked so well (though I had been thinking about the ship before) but for a couple of days I couldn't write anything that wasn't this one!

13. Name three favorite characters to write.

Elim Garak (DS9): This guy is a riot to write for. Of course, a character that has gone on record saying that "truth is an excuse for lack of imagination" is clearly an ally of fic writers everywhere, but he just finds a way to insert himself even in stories where I wasn't planning on it. He's snarky, he's complex and he always has a hidden motive. It's great :D

Nog (DS9): Granted, I have not written for him all that often, but I love him so much, and it has always been very satisfying regardless of his role in the story. Who would have thought, when he was introduced as a petty thief, that he'd have one of the most compelling character development arcs in all of Star Trek? I love his determination to succeed, the fact that he was brave enough to reject the "traditional" Ferengi path when he realized it didn't fit him and that he clearly worked so hard to get to where he is at the end of the series, even with all it cost him.

Zagreus (Hades): Particularly in situations when he's seen as a powerful deity, even if we all know he's a dork with a heart of gold. I don't know, he's just so earnest and kind while also being absurdly powerful and not afraid to trade blows with others. There's always something satisfying about writing for him, regardless of the genre.

[henqtic]

Afraid

pairing: regulus black x fem!reader

summary: you were now in front of the cave, afraid of what was next, of what would happen to you but regulus, he was quite the opposite 

word count: 786. | warnings: angst, character death, mentions of bad home life— please contact me if there’s more!

this is for @simpology​‘s writing challenge— prompts “i’m not afraid to die, just wish i could live a little first.” + “Is it worth it? Risking everything for a chance?” will be in italics (first prompt is altered a little bit to match the story)

masterlist. // taglist form. // picture creds.

you’d always thought of yourself as someone who would live a long life— one of happiness, one filled with people and things who’d bring a smile to your face everyday. maybe you’d have two kids, beautiful ones who had your eyes and his smile. they'd be named after the constellations like he had, an embodiment of the mesmerizing stars that made them up, drawn into the night sky.

he’d be a great father, regulus, you knew it as fact. he’d be the one to play classics, telling the children that they needed to spend more time in their studies, that knowledge was the best tool they could ever possess. the piano would be enchanted to play the same tunes he would if he wasn’t in there, the movements of his fingers everlasting so that no room would be absent of sound because he hated silence.

so your home’s would no longer be the ones you were born into, locked, trapped between the walls and your parents' firm grip— you’d be free like the few nights at hogwarts. there would be nothing less than sensual touches, gentle kisses and childish kisses.

would, would, would.

that's how your life would be if the war hadn't come— ripping up your seventeen year old picture of the future into bits and pieces. there was a part still there though, regulus, the boy— not even man, holding your hand tightly as you looked at the cave in front of you in worry.

was this how your life would end? you know of the inferius, how'd they drag you both down into the water, amongst their pale and bony bodies if you got too close. he wouldn’t allow you to drink the potion even if you’d made a pact that you’d go down together, one not seeing themselves living without the other.

he was fearless, ready for it and not nearly as afraid as you were of the inevitable death, the one being a touch away from your fingertips, arms reaching out, ghosting over you to pull you into its darkness.

“regulus?” you asked in a daze tone, turning your head slightly to see him from the corner of your fogged eyes, he looked sickly for a long time, his face going from filled with youth and promises to now, the smile lines that were so prominent though your short lived school years no longer making an appearance. the face of the boy you once knew and the one that you still loved.

“yes, my love?” he asked softly, urging you to go on with a squeeze of your hand. he could sense your anxiousness more than ever now, and maybe that’s what scared him. maybe it wasn't the concept of death or the fact that his would be the one to consummate the dark lord but that it’d be yours too.

“aren’t you afraid to do it? afraid to die.”

he didn’t need to think before answering you in a short no, lightly shaking his head to catch you wiping a stray tear from your face. he quickly let go of your hand, his now two free wands cupping your face to catch any more that wanted to leave.

“i'm not afraid to die, just wish i could've lived longer, wish we could live longer.”

you refused to, you refused to lose him after all this, all the nights talking about what you would look like when it was over, an old couple with an everlasting love.

“but is it worth it? risking everything for a chance?” 

“you know it is. we’ve done enough studying and we’re both sure of it. and think— there's a chance that we live, we could run away together. we’d change our names to basic muggle ones, go live out in the countryside and do what we’ve always wanted.”

“and if not?” you asked, making the small smile that was once there drop again.

“well, we’d find each other again, you believe in reincarnation. i know that the universe will bring us back together, new people with the same souls and we’ll cherish each other even more then.”

you believed him, with every fiber in your body that you would find each other again, whichever which way it went. it cooled your nerves enough to go through and guide him through drinking the near poisonous liquids until you met your demise. lanky fingers pulled you deeper and deeper, your hopes of your would and could life slipping away as the seconds went by.

so you held onto him, you held onto his figure as he engulfed you into his arms, heads tucked into the crook of the others neck, apologies never stopping...until there was nothing.

general taglist // people I think want to be tagged based off of the form/post -

@harmqnia​ @eunoniaa​​ @dracosaccount​ @ambi-doo12​ @mypainistemporary​ @ang9lic​ @daltonacademia​ @inglourious-imagines​ @willowmores​ @fjorelaant​ @slutfordracoluciusmalfoy @axgelre​ @pottertherotter-deactivated2021​ @beforeoursunsets​ @meiitanoia​ @callmesasha​ @catching-the-train-to-hogwarts​ @illiicitarts​ @sfdlm​ @dracomalfoys-wh0re​ @badass-yn @helleli​ @hahee154hq​

[if I couldn’t tag you, you may need to check your privacy settings!!]

if you didn't want to be tagged just tell me and if you do,, fill out this form !

[beanswrites]

"When The Sun Loved The Moon" Nadia x MC, from "The Arcana"

An incredibly sweet fluffy one-shot for Nadia and MC, based on the song "When The Sun Loved The Moon" by Reinaeiry. Requested by anon!

Before you read this, I just want to say that none of the song lyrics belongs to me, it belongs to it's original artist. The story is all mine, however!

Word count: about 1100 words

Trope: General fluff

Picture from Pinterest!

Also available on AO3!!!

Requests for fics and headcanons are open! Check out my rules for requesting if you wanna send me your ideas, or just pick a prompt from my prompts list with a character!

I'm always here to feed you all, Nadia fans! Hope you guys enjoy ♡︎

masterlist | rules for requesting

"I wrote a song for you, Nadi! Do you.. Do you want to hear it?"

That question startled the purple-haired woman. For a few seconds, she couldn't process it, her eyes wide and her eyebrows furrowed. She knew that her girlfriend could sing, but to hear that calming voice singing a song devoted to her? Pink stained Nadia's cheeks as she nodded.

"Of course I do, lovely"

"MC? My precious, where are you? MC! MC, dear- Oh, hello Portia, have you seen MC? I've been looking for her all day!" Nadia, the countess of Vesuvia, called out her girlfriend's name as she searched for her through the halls of the palace.

"Oh, I'm sorry My Lady, I haven't seen MC anywhere!" The redhead said, quickly leaving to do some laundry around the palace.

There was something wrong, and Nadia knew it. In the past couple of days, even weeks, her girlfriend has been acting really strange. She was doing something secret and mysterious, and whenever Nadia got close to her while she was doing it, she would run away.

It bothered the countess, it truly did. She never really liked secrets, and MC was always so comfortable around her, so what happened? Did Nadia do something to provoke this kind of behavior?

Then again, it could be nothing. MC was known for being on the shyer side, so maybe she was just too embarrassed to show her girlfriend what it was. Yeah, yeah, that's probably it. MC wouldn't hide anything from the one she loves, right?

Little did she know, MC was indeed hiding something, but it wasn't anything horrible or upsetting. The reason why MC has been hiding around the palace recently is that she was practicing her new song, written for Nadia. Even though the shorter girl always loved to sing, there weren't too many people she would feel comfortable singing around them. She never showed Nadia her lovely voice, except while talking or occasionally humming some tunes, so she figured that it was about time.

Of course, since this was for her gorgeous girlfriend, it had to be a love song. And what's a better way to express your love and feelings to somebody than to write your own song?

It was a long time before MC fully wrote the song. She kept changing the lyrics and the melody, nothing was good enough for the goddess Nadia was. One day, out of nowhere, the inspiration hit her unexpectedly. The countess and she were walking through the royal gardens when they saw the most beautiful sunset in the world. The purple-haired woman sighted heavenly, commenting:

"This is the only time they get to meet, don't you think darling?"

MC looked at her, confused.

"Who, Nadi? The sun and the moon?"

The ruler of Vesuvia took the hand of her lover in hers and smiled lovingly.

"Yes, dear... My mother used to tell me these stories about how the sun and the moon were in love, getting to meet only at the sunset. She used to tell me that one day, I will find my sun, and hopefully be with it for the rest of my life. Never have I ever thought these stories are true, until I met you, lovely"

At that moment, once MC saw Nadia's loving smile and the rosy tint of her cheeks, she knew what the song needed to be about. She was Nadia's sun, and Nadia was her moon, and MC was damn sure she was going to show her that.

Today was the day she was going to do it. She is going to perform her new song to Nadia. Easy to say, MC was terrified.

Asra's ex-apprentice knew that her girlfriend would never judge her, but there still were thoughts of everything that could possibly go wrong lingering in the back of her mind.

Portia was also in on this plan. To help MC, who was her dear friend, she cleared Nadia's horrid schedule from all the meetings and appearances for the afternoon, just so she can hear her love singing. After lunch, once it was time to make this plan into action, MC almost chickened out. What if the song isn't good enough?

The smaller young woman bit her nails while walking up and down the ballroom. Nadia will be here at any second, and that knowledge frightened MC. Just as she was repeating the song for the billionth time, in order to get it right, the large doors of the ballroom opened, and a tall, graceful woman with gorgeous purple hair walked in. Her heels made a clicking sound on the marble floor as she walked in a hurry, eager to get close to the love of her life.

"MC! Sweetheart, Portia told me that you wanted to meet me here.. Is something wrong?"

"I'm.. I'm alright, Nadi.. Could you please sit down here? I want to show you something"

The countess obeyed without a word and sat on the comfy loveseat in front of the ballroom stage, where the symphony orchestra would play on special occasions. MC climbed on the stage and took a deep breath.

"I wrote a song for you, Nadi! Do you.. Do you want to hear it?"

That question startled the purple-haired woman. For a few seconds, she couldn't process it, her eyes wide and her eyebrows furrowed. She knew that her girlfriend could sing, but to hear that calming voice singing a song devoted to her? Pink stained Nadia's cheeks as she nodded.

"Of course I do, lovely"

When MC started to sing, it seemed as if everything else in the world disappeared for Nadia. The perfect harmonies, the ever-so-touching music, the carefully thought of lyrics and the way it spilled over her perfect rosy lips... Tears of absolute love and joy prickled in the corners of the countess' eyes as her girl sang about the love between the sun and the moon.

"When the sun loves the moon

Even the ocean feels her pull

Oh, and the stars align every night

To spell out their love in tiny bright lights

Oh, when the sun loves the moon

Never touching but never far

Oh, at the break of day

A summer's ray

A moonlit night that casts away

Their love remains, their love remains

Oh, when the sun loves the moon

Her golden light

Her silver hues

A beautiful song

Oh, how they long

For dawn.."

The way poor MC shook the entire time she sang.. If only she knew that not only did Her Lady like it, she was also so deeply touched with how the song included her mother's stories. Once the music died down, the famous Apprentice noticed the awed expression on her lover's face, and basically threw herself in Nadi's arms.

After almost 10 minutes of hugging tightly and kissing each other's faces, the ruler of Vesuvia pulled away.

"Oh precious... You are my sun, my only sun, don't forget that my dear!"

With a soft kiss on the countess' lips, MC chuckled.

"You are my moon, too.. I'm just glad we don't have to wait for dusk or dawn to meet, like in your mother's stories!"

And they never did have to. The sun and the moon, the apprentice and the countess, the light and the dark, destined to be together till the ends of time.

[witcher-and-his-bard-archive]

Drown In My Desire

also on ao3

written for the Monster March prompt list prompt: siren pls see ao3 for the full list of tags, this is... something edit: some formatting got fucked up and I had to make some adjustments, sorry if there are any wonky bits now 😅

Geralt is barely off the boat back from Skellige when he hears about the contract. There's a lone Siren causing trouble along one of the trading routes; drawing the ships closer until they wreck on the jagged rocks of the bay. The fishermen complain loudly about it as he disembarks and as soon as his feet hit dry land, Geralt makes straight for them. It's basic Siren behaviour, likely to be an easy job and then back on his way.

The men are offloading barrels and Geralt keeps out of the way as he approaches the one giving orders.

"Heard you've got a Siren problem," he says and the man straightens up to look him over.

"Aye, we do. You're a Witcher, right? You'll take care of it for us?"

"What are you offering?"

"Godsdamn anything at this point. Things wrecked six shops, we've lost 11 good men, countless hours of labour... Name your price, Witcher, we'll pay it."

"Five hundred," Geralt suggests.

"Fine by me. Bring back proof of the kill and you'll get your coin."

"Agreed." Normally, Geralt would request half in advance, but he's dealt with Novigradian merchants before and they're reputable and trustworthy most of the time. Plus, this is a simple contract, probably not even worth the 500 he asked for.

He stays to get the rest of the details from the merchant, then heads into town to rent a room at the Kingfisher. He won't be in town long, but he may as well have somewhere comfortable to sleep when he inevitably comes back cold and wet.

Geralt bribes a local fisherman to take him out to the bay or as close to it as possible - no one will go right in any longer. They moor on the far side and Geralt disembarks, thanking the man and paying him a generous fee for his service. He didn't have to bring him out here, and many other men wouldn't dare go this far.

He hears the song immediately and it makes him pause. Geralt has heard the Siren song before, has even fallen under its spell in the past, and this is not it. This is a Siren, for sure, and he is singing, but his song is... sad. Geralt frowns as he makes his way over the swell of the hill, the beach sprawling out before him in a wide arc.

It's sandy, devoid of rocks and debris but the tide is down and large, jagged rocks break the surface of the water. Waves roll up gently onto the shore and Geralt scans the shoreline, looking for any sign of the Siren. The song is coming from the far side of the small bay, but he sees nothing.

Readjusting the belts across his chest, he makes his way down to the beach and across the sand.

He spots him shortly, tucked under a shelf of rock out of the sun, curled around himself. Geralt thinks at first, that he may be injured, hence the despair in his song, but as he approaches he recognizes a sense of desperation in the tune. Approaching further, he catches the creature's interest and he looks up at him, his confusion a mixture of desperation and fear and resignation. Geralt looks him over as he approaches, not trusting the Siren not to jump out and attack. He knows well enough they're crafty and wouldn't stop short of setting a trap in dire situations.

But when Geralt is within a few feet, the Siren still makes no sign of wanting to hurt him. If anything, he looks miserable to have been discovered and Geralt does a quick once-over for injuries. There are none visible, but as the Siren unfurls himself, stretching out to his full length, Geralt pauses.

He doesn't know a lot about Siren anatomy past what a sorcerer will pay for what, but he's seen enough pricks in his life to know one when he sees it.

Jaskier whines internally and shuts up as soon as he sees the figure approaching. He was trying to attract... well, not him. Not a Witcher. He needs someone to solve his problem, not to be killed as the solution to someone else’s. But maybe that would be better than going through this every five years out here alone. Maybe the Witcher will be kind and put him out of his misery and then- well, at least he wouldn't be stuck here on his own like this.

But the man approaches and doesn't do anything. He just looks, walking closer until Jaskier could nearly reach out and touch him. Slowly, as non-threateningly as he can, he uncoils himself to prove he's not a threat. His cock aches and he's reminded of the fact that it's very blatantly on display, but that's the least of his problems now.

"You're the one who's been wrecking ships?" the Witcher asks and well, yes, Jaskier assumes that's his fault.

He's seen the wreckage washing up on shore, seen the men floating lifeless amongst the waves. He tries to help, but in this state, it's impossible to do much before the burning need overtakes him again and he's rendered useless.

"I didn't-" he starts, but he doesn't think a Witcher will care whether he meant to or not. He just wants a companion, wants someone to help ease this ache as his own attempts aren't helping any longer, he didn't mean for the humans to get in the way.

"Didn't what?"

"Didn't mean for them to get hurt." Jaskier doesn't look at him, but the Witcher is quiet for some time and then,

"It’s... a mating song?" he guesses and something in Jaskier’s stomach twists uncomfortably that he could figure it out so quickly. Jaskier avoids his eyes looking instead at the way the sand coats the toes of his boots.

"Why don't you tell me what happened?"

Jaskier's head snaps up at that and he looks the Witcher dead in the eye. He's never heard of a monster being given a chance to tell their side of the story, to redeem themself. The Witcher drops to the sand, crossing his legs and resting his elbows on his thighs.

"I-" Jaskier starts, unsure if this is some sort of twisted game. "I just- I was hoping someone might be nearby to hear-" he feels pathetic, his only consolation the fact that the Witcher doesn't know that he came here willingly, he left his family willingly to go out and explore the vast oceans and now he’s miserable.

"How long have you been here?" the Witcher asks, "you've never caused problems before now."

"Before now I wasn't-" he rolls his eyes in frustration at himself, slapping his tail against the sand. "Sirens," he starts again, "go through cycles. I'm in heat and I'm alone and every attempt I've made to reach out has only ended in ruin." Jaskier scowls at his own confession.

"I tried to help," he adds solemnly, "I just... I can't focus, I don't have the strength to pull them to the surface- I tried," he persists, "but I'm not much use like this." His cock aches and he groans at the timing. "I hardly think that deserves a death sentence." He wraps his tail protectively around himself, hiding the evidence of his situation.

"Not here to hurt you," the Witcher explains, "just here to keep people from dying. I could... help?"

Jaskier starts at the offer, his wings snapping tight against his back. "What do you mean, help?"

The Witcher huffs a light laugh and Jaskier tries not to be too hopeful. He's never strayed beyond his race, though he knows many who have and if he were to, well, the Witcher isn't awful to look at. In fact, Jaskier thinks, taking in his shining golden eyes and shock-white hair tied back in a loose bun, he’s quite lovely.

"Now, I know you're not stupid," the Witcher says, almost sounding amused. "The offer’s there. I'll help if you stop with the singing."

Maybe it's the need coursing through him, or maybe it's the fact that no one has ever been so kind to him before, or maybe there's just something about this man's smile that makes him weak. Jaskier agrees.

"Not here," he says. "Can you swim?" The Witcher cocks an eyebrow at him. "I'd prefer not to have to do this out in the open where anyone could just wander upon us. I do have some sense of decorum."

"Where are we going?"

"Home," Jaskier says simply. "It's not far." He shifts in the sand, sitting up and gesturing out toward the sea. "A human could make the swim, surely a Witcher can as well."

"Fair enough. I'm Geralt, by the way. And I can swim."

"Jaskier."

He squirms in the sand, trying to force his cock to withdraw, but it's no use. Geralt rises, kicking off his boots and removing his gear, tucking it away into a crevice in the rock. He bends down, scooping Jaskier into his arms. It's a shock and Jaskier is helpless to do anything but wind his arms around Geralt's neck and hold on, stubbornly refusing to acknowledge the way his cock juts out obscenely, betraying him.

Geralt walks into the waves, releasing Jaskier as soon as the water is up to his waist. He holds his breath, lets Jaskier take his hand, and follows him down beneath the surf. Jaskier feels marginally better out of the sun and sand, in the cool water, but not much. He swims quickly, eager to return home and get on with... whatever Geralt has in mind to help.

He ducks into the narrow tunnel, dropping Geralt's hand and gesturing for him to follow behind. He does, and Jaskier leads the way back to an underwater cave. Glowing coral grows near the ledge of rock, where the water gives way to open air again. It gives off a little light, but Jaskier can see perfectly well and he knows Witchers have night vision.

He slips up onto the stony cave floor and offers a webbed hand to Geralt as he breaks the surface. To Geralt's credit, he only seems a little out of breath as he's hauled up out of the water.

Jaskier flops back on his side, watching the way Geralt rises to his feet, tugging his soaked shirt off and wringing the water from it. His trousers remain in place and Jaskier finds himself disappointed, curious to see what's hidden beneath. But this isn't a fun romp for the sake of it; this is an agreement, Geralt is simply doing him a favour.

When he seems pleased with the state of his shirt, Geralt lays it out and lies down next to him, lining his body up with Jaskier's. He's... stunning up close and it takes more of his effort than it should not to simply reach out and touch him just for the sake of it. He remembers fucking other Sirens, the touching, the press of bodies - he misses it, and he finds himself wishing this was something more than a simple favour. But that's selfish; Geralt is already offering him so much, for so little in return and nothing, even, for himself.

"You'll have to walk me through it," Geralt says with a smile, "I've never fucked a Siren before."

"Oh. You can just... touch me?" Jaskier says and Geralt reaches out tentatively, slipping a hand over the swell of his hip.

"Like this?"

Jaskier nods. It's not exactly what he wants, but it does feel nice and he's not about to try and direct. Geralt's hesitation is short-lived and he slides his hand up Jaskier's chest, brushing his thumb over a nipple and Jaskier's breath catches. He watches the movement of Geralt's hand as his fingers press into his skin, warm, despite the swim through cool water.

He shifts slightly, leaning up on one arm and pressing back down, over the swell of Jaskier's hip and he tugs him forward before abruptly before dragging his fingers up the length of Jaskier's swollen cock. He's slow, but delicate like he's learning his way around, but it feels incredible and it's hard for Jaskier not to just thrust up into the touch and take the pleasure from his hands.

Geralt's fingers slip over the ridge at the base of him, curling around him beneath it and squeezing as he pulls up over it.

"What is this?" he asks. He sounds intrigued, curious, and Jaskier can't help but indulge him.

"'S hard to fuck underwater," he hums, moaning as Geralt's fingers reach the tip of his cock. One dips into the slit, pressing against it, and Jaskier whimpers. "Keeps me from... slipping out." The noise Geralt makes in response is hard to determine, but it sounds interested. He moves his hand back down to squeeze around the ring.

His fingers slip over the swell of skin, pressing against it and running his thumb along the edge. He likes it, Jaskier realizes. It prods at something inside him and he presses his hips forward encouragingly.

"Does that feel good?" Geralt asks and Jaskier nods, pressing his forehead against his arm to keep from moaning out loud. He wants to show his appreciation, wants Geralt to know he can do as he pleases with him, but he doesn't want to push too hard.

Geralt’s light touches grow bolder, pressing more firmly, jerking him quickly and firmly and as Jaskier whines and squirms beneath him, Geralt grows more confident. His fingers slip down, pressing between the folds of his sheath, pressing right down to the base of his cock and within. No one has touched him like this before, the sharp jab of a Siren's claws not conducive to pressing inside.

Something warm spreads through his chest and he finds himself pulling away, embarrassed by how vulnerable he suddenly feels letting a stranger touch him this way, a Witcher no less. Immediately, Geralt withdraws his hands and the look on his face implies worry.

"Sorry," he blurts, then softer, "tell me if it's too much."

"No, I just. No one's ever-"

"I'll stop."

"No," Jaskier says again, a little too abruptly. "No, it was good, it just... caught me off guard." Geralt doesn't wait to be told twice, but his fingers move more slowly as they slip back into place at the base of his cock. Jaskier gives a little thrust on encouragement and Geralt presses his palm against him, giving him something to rut against while he explores.

Jaskier rocks against him, burying his face in his arm as the need takes over. Given an inch, he's no longer able to control himself, so needy for it that he's invited a perfect stranger into his home to fuck him. But Geralt doesn't seem to mind his desperation, doesn't mention it. He picks up quickly on Jaskier's most sensitive spots, going back to rub over them, pressing his thumb beneath the swollen ring and Jaskier's mind goes blank with the pleasure of it.

He's never noticed how sensitive it is there; the use of hands in Siren coupling is rare and limited to squeezing and jerking, not prodding and rubbing like Geralt does so easily. It's hardly Jaskier's fault that he can't contain himself in the face of this new, wonderful sensation.

The swell of his climax creeps up on him slowly, his mind too preoccupied with where Geralt's fingers are and what they're doing. It's not until Geralt wraps around the base of him, pushing as far into his sheath as his fingers with reach, that Jaskier realizes how close he is. His hips jerk hard and Geralt's other hand shoots out to steady him, holding him close as Jaskier writhes against him.

There's not much else he can do like this, just squirm and try to press as much of his cock against Geralt's palm as he can. Otherwise, he's under Geralt's control, letting him do what he wants, take him apart as he will. Geralt's thumb presses along the underside of his cock, pressing up toward the tip and Jaskier jerks hard as his orgasm washes over him, spilling over Geralt's hand and up his arm.

His hips twitch, cocking slipping easily against Geralt's arm with his own spend to slick the way. He'd be embarrassed, coming so quickly with so little stimulation to anything but his cock, but Geralt hums, sounding very pleased.

He continues touching him, fingers slipping through his spend and using it as slick, rubbing down the full length of him and rubbing against the slit at the tip.

"Good?" he asks and Jaskier can only nod and whimper, still struggling to catch his breath.

Geralt leans in, pressing his nose into Jaskier's neck abruptly and Jaskier shifts onto his back to allow him better access. He likes the warmth of Geralt's breath on his neck, the soft press of his lips and the occasional flick of his tongue against his skin. Geralt says nothing as his kisses become firmer, pressing down the column of his throat and down his chest.

His hand remains on Jaskier's cock, stroking slowly as he kisses down the length of his body, not even pausing as pale skin gives way to shimmering scales. He seems unbothered by it and Jaskier likes the feeling of his lips on his tail. Geralt doesn't release his cock until he's moved fully down the length of Jaskier's body, straddling the end of his tail.

Geralt kisses around the base of his cock, not touching it but for the barest brush of his cheek as he passes. Jaskier holds his breath in anticipation, arching off the bed with each kiss that gets closer to where he wants it. When Geralt's lips finally press against him, he lets out a strangled groan and arches off the ground, hands immediately and automatically groping for Geralt's shoulder.

Geralt kisses up the length of him, teasing the tip with his tongue before moving back down again. Jaskier wants his mouth, wants to feel that wet heat around him, so different than the cool touch of one of his own kind. It wouldn't be the first time he's had a mouth around his cock, but he's used to sharp teeth, to slow and cautious strokes. When Geralt gets his mouth around him, he's anything but.

The moment Geralt's lips wrap around him, quick and eager, sliding his tongue over him and pressing his lips in close, holding him tight as he sinks right to the base. His tongue presses in where his fingers had been and Jaskier knows now that he likes exploring, likes discovering what makes Jaskier squirm and taking advantage of it. And he's incredibly good at it.

His fingers that had, up until now, been happily settled on his hips, push up to brush against his skin. One hand remains, seeking out the smallest part of his waist and settling in the dip as the other moves down again. Jaskier's foggy mind suggests that he intends to wrap around the base of his cock, but Geralt gets distracted somewhere between. His fingers pass over Jaskier’s slit and he pauses. Slowly, Gerlt lifts his head, licking up the length of Jaskier's cock and looking at the opening beneath his fingers.

"Can I?" he asks and Jaskier nods.

This is... new. He knows for women it can be pleasurable to be touched this way, but he's never had anyone do it to him. As a child, they told stories about men who fucked each other like this, the way they fuck women, but Jaskier had been young and naive and passed them off as nothing but stories. He'd never found anyone who wanted to touch him that way and had assumed, like most things children talk about, it was a rumour.

But Geralt's fingers tease the opening and sparks rush over his skin. Jaskier's cock throbs and he pushes himself up to watch. Geralt catches his eyes for a brief moment, before dropping back to his work and pushing inside.

"Oh," he breathes, "you're wet." Jaskier squirms, as his body gives way to Geralt's finger, quickly joined by a second.

As with everything, he moves slowly at first, pushing deep and rubbing into him. It feels good, much better than Jaskier could have expected and then Geralt bumps against something inside him and Jaskier cries out, digging his claws into Geralt's shoulder.

When he realizes what he's done, he releases him quickly, but Geralt seems unfazed and he's smiling when he meets Jaskier's eyes again.

"You like that?" he asks and Jaskier lets out a breathy, yes. Geralt grins at him and ducks down to wrap his lips around the tip of Jaskier's cock.

Geralt's fingers work in time with his mouth, picking up speed as Jaskier's groans become more frequent, less controlled. It doesn't take him long like this, with his cock slipping down Geralt's throat and Geralt's fingers constantly pressing against whatever that is inside him that feels so fucking good.

He comes with a gasp as Geralt thrusts up into him again and Geralt makes no attempt to keep him from pushing his cock deeper into his throat. If anything, he seems glad for it, and when Jaskier slumps back against the ground again, Geralt pulls off his cock with slow precision, careful to wrap his lips tightly around the head. Jaskier's eyes drop shut and his chest heaves, but he's aware of Geraly lying back down next to him.

"That felt... good."

"No one has ever touched you like this?" Geralt asks lightly. Jaskier waves a clawed hand at him in response. "Mmm, understandable. But you liked it?" Jaskier huffs a tired laugh and turns to face him.

"Very much."

"Can I?" Geralt asks, already sliding slick fingers along his waist.

"Please."

Geralt rises to his knees, straddling Jaskier's hips for a moment before dropping to the ground on the other side of him. He presses right up against him, slipping an arm under his neck and holding him close as his other hand presses flat against Jaskier's stomach, sliding downward. He crooks two fingers, pushing inside him and seeking out that same spot again.

He finds it with ease and when Jaskier jerks hard, Geralt pulls him in against his chest. He drops his forehead to Jaskier's, breathing hard against him and Jaskier shuts his eyes, letting the pleasure wash over him. Geralt thrusts into him, quick and precise, then slows to tease at the opening, fingers slipping slowly in and out, and Jaskier can't decide which he likes more.

When he's quick, it punches the breath out of him, leaves him mindless and aching for more, but then he slows, gently caresses and rubs into him and it's like a slow fire burning within him, gradually burning brighter. His mind goes blank, foggy with lust, and he wraps himself around Geralt's shoulders, drawing him close. Even with Jaskier wrapped around him, he never falters and before long Jaskier is writhing again, his tail slapping hard against the floor as pleasure courses through him.

He's overwhelmed, so entirely encompassed by pleasure that he can't do more than cling to Geralt and whimper until, at last, he comes, his cock untouched where it spurts over his hip.

Slick drips from his slit, mixing with his come and Geralt pulls out slowly, swiping his fingers through it and sliding them around Jaskier's cock. He cries out at the first touch, oversensitive from multiple consecutive orgasms, but it still feels good underneath the sensitivity and he can't bring himself to tell Geralt to stop.

When Geralt finally lets him go, Jaskier flops onto his back and stares up at him. Geralt is watching him, his eyes dark but bright, and he smiles. Unthinking, Jaskier reaches up, wrapping one hand around Geralt's cheek and tugging him down toward him. At the last second, he realizes what he's doing and hesitates, but Geralt closes the distance, pressing their lips together in a gentle kiss.

It doesn't last long and Jaskier has to keep himself from nipping at his lips when they part. Geralt presses up close and for the first time, he feels the hard line of Geralt's cock beneath his trousers and it makes his breath catch. For a moment, he just stares at him, enthralled by the idea that Geralt is turned on by this.

"You're... aroused?" he asks and Geralt huffs a soft laugh.

"I'm fine."

"Could I touch you?"

"Mmm, if you like."

Jaskier grins, shifting onto his side and pushes Geralt over. He laughs and goes easily, watching as Jaskier spreads a hand over his chest. He maps out the planes of his chest, pushing clawed fingers through soft chest hair before dragging them lightly down toward the hem of his trousers.

He rakes his eyes over the jut of Geralt's cock, but doesn't touch, afraid of pushing too far. A favour, he reminds himself, Geralt is doing him a favour here. So he slips his hand back up to his stomach, mimicking the way Geralt touched him at first, exploring the little dips and rises in his skin, careful not to catch his claws.

And when he looks up to him again, Geralt is watching him. Something in the way he looks at him makes Jaskier's chest tight and he dips down again, catching Geralt's lips in a kiss. Geralt kisses back with enthusiasm, wrapping an arm around so he can pull Jaskier on top of him.

Both hands move down, cupping the swell of Jaskier's tail and rocking him slowly forward. Jaskier's cock, still sensitive, presses against Geralt's through the rough fabric of his trousers. He hisses at the drag, but Geralt moans at the friction and the sound goes straight through him. This time, Jaskier does it on purpose.

They find an easy rhythm between the two of them and even with Geralt's trousers in the way, the sensitivity soon gives way to pleasure and Jaskier ruts against him, kissing him hard despite the lingering fear that he'll bite too hard. Geralt however, seems unconcerned. He's got one hand buried in Jaskier's hair, the other pressing between them, fumbling with the buttons on his trousers. It takes him a moment, but he gets them undone, finally pulling his cock free and Jaskier groans as he ruts against him.

Geralt is hot, his cock even more so, and Jaskier basks in the warmth, pressing himself closer, even with Geralt’s hand still between them. He's sure he could come just like this, happy to rut against him, but then Geralt's fingers are pressing against his slit again. His fingers come away slick and he winds his hand around Jaskier's cock, stroking him slowly.

"What do you need?" he asks and Jaskier whimpers.

"What you did before," he breathes, "could you... do that again?" In an instant, Geralt flips him onto his back again, dragging his fingers up to his slit, but Jaskier stops him. "Could you... with your cock?"

"Oh. Fuck, yeah."

Geralt shifts, pushing his trousers down and kicking them off before pressing up close again. He pulls Jaskier into a deep kiss, his hand sliding away to bring his hips closer. He ruts against him, pushing through the slick and come and when he catches on Jaskier's slit, Jaskier lets out a little gasp and grasps at Geralt's shoulders.

Geralt pushes forward pressing into him and Jaskier holds his breath as he stretches open on his cock. Geralt's eyelids flutter as he settles and then he rocks forward, slowly at first, just short little thrusts that leave Jaskier aching, pushing himself onto him, wanting more.

And Geralt gives it to him. He sinks deep, hooking a knee over Jaskier's hip to hold him close as he ruts, his cock pressed firmly against that spot that makes him wild. Jaskier bucks and whines, his own cock slipping against Geralt's with every thrust. He delights in the feeling of Gerslt inside him, of his warmth and the stretch of his cock, sliding into him and filling him wholly.

He's surprised to find Geralt as breathless as he is when he looks up at him and he can't help but tip forward and nip at his lower lip. Geralt groans and kisses him hard. He pushes him onto his back so he's straddling his hips and when he sits back, Jaskier's cock presses between his cheeks.

He rocks his hips, suddenly overwhelmed by the heat around his cock and Geralt shudders as he pushes back against him. His eyes flick up to Jaskier's and he licks his lips.

"Can I try something?" he asks and Jask nods enthusiastically.

Geralt withdraws immediately, pressing his fingers into Jaskier's slit. When he withdraws, he reaches behind himself, and Jaskier burns to know what he's doing, but the slick fingers wrap around his cock, and Geralt sits back on him. Jaskier groans low as Geralt's body engulfs him, heat seeping into every inch where they touch and he reaches out, fingers digging into his thighs, so careful not to leave scratches.

Geralt rocks back onto him, taking the full length of Jaskier's cock and grinding back against him. He rolls his hips and squeezes around him, pulling right up to the tip before dropping back down the length on him. Jaskier is breathless, helpless to do anything but squeeze Geralt's thighs and bite his own lip.

Tentatively, he wraps one hand around Geralt's cock, slipping webbed fingers over the head of his cock. Geralt moans softly, sliding one hand over Jaskier's and guiding it down. Jaskier nearly stops breathing as the head of Geralt's cock nudges against his slit and then he's sliding in again, filling him up even as he squeezes around Jaskier's cock.

It's so much. Jaskier's body sings with the twin pleasures of being filled so wholly and sinking into Geralt himself as he shifts his hips up.

"Fuck" he groans and Geralt drapes himself over his chest, kissing the moan from his lips.

He finds a rhythm, a careful balance that keeps them joined in both places and Jaskier has never felt such overwhelming pleasure in his life. He meets Geralt's thrusts, thrusting in deep as Geralt sinks into him and it's hardly surprising when he finds himself creeping close to the edge. Geralt's thighs shake around him and he wants to hold out, to make Geralt comes first, but Geralt reaches up, nipping at the sensitive skin over his throat and the pleasure that zips through him is too much.

His hips snap up hard and Geralt kisses him through it, deep and hard, his whole body arching against him. He follows shortly, burying himself deep in Jaskier's body and rutting into him urgently. The moans and pleas that drop from his lips do nothing to ease Jaskier's persistent erection, but as Geralt slumps against him, Jaskier feels the exhaustion creeping in.

Geralt, too, seems tired and Jaskier withdraws reluctantly, mourning the loss of Geralt's body around him. His cock remains stubbornly hard, still unsheathed, but the aching desperation wore off some time ago and he flings himself into the water, quickly rubbing himself down to prevent waking up sticky and uncomfortable. A moment later there's a splash as Geralt rolls off the ledge next to him.

He swims closer enough for Jaskier to reach him and he makes a point of wiping Geralt down first before wrapping a hand around his cock and sliding slowly. Geralt's eyes drop shut and he winds his arms around Jaskier's neck with a soft, shuddering moan.

"How long does this usually last?" he asks and Jaskier shrugs.

"Anywhere from a week to six."

Geralt gawks at him. "Six weeks?"

"On and off," Jaskier huffs, amused. "I don't swim around with an exposed prick for six weeks. And besides. It's usually two, though it is much more in much more... concentrated bursts."

"Meaning I should stick around?"

Jaskier's heart thuds heavily at the suggestion which is, realistically, ridiculous. He's known Geralt for all of a few hours and under normal circumstances, the man would have just killed him. But the idea of keeping him close spreads warmth through his chest.

"You don't have to," he says anyway. "You kept up your end of the deal. I'll be quiet."

"Mmm," Geralt agrees, nosing at his neck, "but it'll get bad again. What would you do with no one here to get you through it."

"Are you..." Jaskier starts, hesitant. "Are you saying you want to stay?"

"Maybe not exactly here," Geralt shrugs, "I'd appreciate being warm and dry part of the time. But I don't intend to go far. Maybe I'll camp out on the beach."

"Will you stay for now?" Jaskier asks hopefully.

"Yes."

Jaskier doesn’t acknowledge the way his heart clenches a little. He shouldn’t want Geralt to stay, shouldn’t care what he does with himself now that he’s fulfilled his end of the bargain, but as they finish cleaning up, he seems happy to be there.

Once they're both clean and Geralt has managed to pull another orgasm from him, they settle on the ground, Jaskier curled up around him. His cock rests perfectly against the cleft of Geralt's ass and he has to be careful not to move too much, lest he work himself up again. He spreads one wing out over Geralt, using it as well as he can to keep him warm.

“You should go back,” Geralt says quietly and if Jaskier didn’t know better, he’d say he sounded almost disappointed, “leave here and find more of your kind so you don’t have to suffer alone next time.”

“I’ve thought about it,” Jaskier admits, “but I like it here.”

“Mm,” Geralt hums sleepily, “guess I’ll just have to come back then, hm?”

Five years later…

The need returns, just as it always does, creeping up slowly and then hitting him all at once, but this time it's worse. This time he has the memory of his Witcher, soft and sweet touching him and kissing him and working him through it. And the memory only serves to make the need stronger.

But he made a promise.

So Jaskier holes himself up in his cave and deals with it as well as he can on his own and when that quits working on the first day, Jaskier swims to the surface in the hopes of coming across some other passer-by who might be willing to risk their life to fuck a Siren.

But when he breaches the surface of the water, there's a figure on the beach, moving oddly. He keeps low in the water, just his head breaking the surface and when he gets closer he realizes it's a man taking off his boots. It takes a couple of seconds to register as the man strips completely naked, but as he gets closer, as Jaskier swims further, he recognizes him. There's a swell of something warm and pleasant that settles in his chest and his heart beats just a fraction too quickly.

Geralt came back for him.

[pinkoptics]

AU-gust 2021 Prompts

3. Hipsters / 16. Hippies

Erik detests hipsters and hippies and, to be honest, isn’t even sure what the difference is, nor does he particularly care. The things he will do for Charles…

Modern AU. Still have powers. Grumpy Erik. Adorable Charles. Meet Cute. Silliness.

3392 Words

*

Erik hated everything about this place.

Absolutely everything.

He could write a dissertation on its failings, which were abundant.

Its first sin was being directly across from his apartment building. When he looked out his window, he saw it. When he stepped out of the lobby doors, he saw it. When he pulled his car out of the parking garage, he saw it. It was an unavoidable part of every single day of his life.

Its second sin was what it had replaced. Previously, there had been a diner. A kosher diner. A diner that had tasted like his childhood. It had been a hole in the wall, never looked quite clean, but the coffee had been strong enough to caffeinate an elephant and the food almost as good as his mama’s. Most people had passed it by. Just another slightly dingy New York eatery that you didn’t give a second thought. Quiet. A refuge for those in the know. Then came the hipster gentrification, ruining not only his precious diner, but the neighbourhood in general.

Its third sin was its name. Plant. In and of itself the name ‘Plant’ was harmless, inoffensive. Just a word. It conjured images of a vegan eatery, bistro, restaurant, or maybe if taken 100% literally, a store that sold plants. All of which would have been fine. He had nothing against plants and, sure, he ate meat (kosher meat), but happily ate vegetarian dishes as well. But no, it was not a plant store or even a vegan eatery, it was a vegan coffeehouse. Coffee came from plants, Erik knew this, so the name passed on that technicality, but it did not scream ‘coffee.’ Why not ‘Bean’ if it needed to conform to the trendy one-word-naming that had for reasons unknown come with the gentrification. It was couched between ‘Table’ (a restaurant) and ‘Sweat’ (a boutique gym). Plant did not equal coffee, and that knowledge crawled under his skin every time he saw the stylized lettering.

Its fourth sin was the coffee. Erik wasn’t particularly picky about his brew, whether at home or out. Cheap diner swill, the finest Italian espresso, the Keurig at the office, the ridiculously expensive machine that produced the perfect cappuccino at Emma’s apartment, whatever. Plant’s beans were fine as beans went, the roast satisfactory, but then ruined with its accompaniments. They carried a variety of ‘mylks.’ Yes, with a ‘y’. He preferred lattes, and would have been fine with oat or almond— if only it was spelled with a fucking ‘i’. Every time he saw the pretentious letter, he felt the urge to take a sharpie and commit as many acts of misdemeanour graffiti as necessary until all the ‘y’s were gone.

Its fifth sin was its staff. He could have tolerated their always sunny dispositions (even if it were literally impossible for any customer service employee to be that happy all the time). He could have tolerated their ridiculous hipster (or was it hippy?) apparel, moustaches, beards and hairstyles (what was even the difference between the two?). What he could not handle was the way they called him ‘friend.’ Every. Single. Time. He could count his friends on one hand and none of them worked at Plant. Their ‘peace, love and joy’ vibe made him grind his teeth and wish he had a mutation that would allow him to send them back to the 1960s.

And yet…

“Good morning friend! Amazing day, right?” It was, in fact, pouring so hard the streets were borderline flooding. “Usual? Or do you want to try—”

Erik had long ago learned to immediately tune out the suggestions, but was sure he caught the word ‘sage.’ Who in their right fucking mind wanted sage in their coffee? Yes, he was inside the loathed establishment wasting precious brain cells wondering why anyone felt the need to mess with the simple perfection that was coffee and milk. Yes, he was there often enough that the employees knew him on sight. Yes, he had a usual order.

It wasn’t his fault.

It really wasn’t.

It was the fault of a pair of the bluest eyes he had ever seen.

This shouldn’t have been the case. The whole thing was ridiculous, utterly ridiculous. The entire story more at home on the W Network or Hallmark, than in his very real, not-a-rom-com, life. And yet, here he was, having his 24th latte with mylk in a row and questioning his very sanity.

It had all started, just over a month ago, directly in front of Plant. To this day, Erik wasn’t sure whose fault it had been. He’d been on his phone, eviscerating a junior partner for a monstrous fuck up, and so livid that he was not at all paying attention to his surroundings. The blue-eyed man he’d run into, however, had claimed equal distraction, so perhaps the blame rested on both of their shoulders.

They had crashed into each other— papers flew, his phone flipped through the air and they ended up in a heap on the sidewalk, Erik atop the smaller frame beneath him. Already late for work, already pissed off with the junior partner beyond reason, Erik had been ready to re-direct his anger and tear whoever it was a new one, when the aforementioned blue eyes had arrested the words in his throat. He had admitted this to no one. Hell, he barely admitted it in the sanctity of his own mind because he was not a 12 year old girl, but a senior partner in one of the most prestigious architecture firms in New York. He did not go soft over a pair of gorgeous eyes (except, apparently, that he did), particularly when he hadn’t even seen the face that went with the eyes, which could have been grotesquely unattractive (it wasn’t).

The mouth that went with the eyes was absurdly red and absurdly kissable. The face angelic. To his eternal, internal embarrassment he had thought that exact word— angelic. He wished he could have blamed his temporary insanity on hitting his head, but having fallen on top, he couldn’t. If anyone had a concussion it was the ocean-eyed, ruby-lipped angel man. The ruby lips had spluttered apologies in a gorgeous British accent (not something Erik had until now found to be a turn on) as they scrambled off each other, righting clothes and belongings.

“Your phone!” the man had moaned. “Is it all right?”

The screen did appear to have a crack, but in another moment of lunacy, Erik pocketed it before the Angel could see and muttered something about it being fine. Instead, Erik helped him to collect the papers that had fluttered every which way, including the road, where they were already being demolished by a steady stream of vehicles.

“I hope those weren’t important.”

The man laughed, it was a very nice sound. “Not as such, no. I’m sure my students will be delighted to hear that their papers were torn asunder. They already mock me for printing them at all. I could mark them on my laptop like a proper 21st century individual, but there’s something about the feel of paper and pen that I just cannot let go of. It’s— and, as I go on and see your expression, I realize a simple ‘no’ likely would have sufficed.”

What did he see in Erik’s expression? A man besotted? Enamoured? Smitten? Any other number of words he had never used in regard to himself or anyone else in his entire life? Fuck. Erik tried to school has face into its usual disdain for the world and ninety-nine percent of the people in it, but if he was as in control of his facial muscles as he was of his thoughts, he knew he was failing miserably.

Erik handed him the last of the papers they could possibly retrieve. “I agree— about the pen and paper, I mean.” He did. As incredible as design software was these days, he always started on paper. The precision needed to draw the perfect straight lines and angles of a new building gave him a feeling of immense satisfaction in a way little else did.

“Oh, well, glad I’m not the only one who hasn’t forsaken the old ways.”

His smile.

Fuck fuck fuck.

Erik cleared his throat. “Let me buy you a coffee.”

Had he just said that?

Traitorous voice.

Was he gesturing at Plant?

Traitorous body.

He’d never been inside. On principle. Apparently, principle flew out the window for charming British men with cornflower (cornflower?!) blue eyes. The man blinked those eyes, as though not expecting the kindness.

Erik gestured at the papers. “I’ve clearly set your work back and I’ve ruined your—” cardigan. Erik blinked as his clothes came into focus. The man he was suddenly, desperately, attracted to was wearing a baggy, grandpa cardigan. Erik began to wonder if he had never woken up that morning. Maybe he was still in bed, across the street. Maybe this was a fever dream.

“Oh! I’ve dozens more just like it. It’s nothing.” He swatted ineffectually at the dirt covering one sleeve.

“Please.”

The man cocked his head. “Well… all right.”

So Erik had. In the end it had been a tea, not coffee. Earl grey with mylk. The interaction had ended there, awkwardly. Most likely his own fault. He didn’t do flirting with random strangers he’d just plowed into on the street. He didn’t generally do flirting at all. Moreover, he was now very late and had the junior partner’s fuck ups to fix before this afternoon’s meeting with their client. So, he’d left, stumbling over his goodbyes.

The day that followed hadn’t afforded much opportunity to think on the chance encounter. Not with employees to castrate and clients to placate. It wasn’t until he was home, looking out the bank of front windows at Plant that his thoughts drifted back to Blue Eyes. Which was, unfortunately, what he had christened him in his head because he’d never gotten the man’s name. Erik had gone to bed, mind clouded with thoughts, dreamt of him, and woken up with those same thoughts. Emma had always said his was one of the most disciplined minds she had ever encountered.

So much for that.

It was only a complete loss of that discipline that could possibly explain why he’d unnecessarily crossed the street the next morning and entered the obnoxious establishment for a second time, without even a moment’s hesitation. His eyes had immediately scanned for a mop of just overlong brown hair (yes, he’d noted that too, as well as just how much he wanted to run his hands through it). When they’d landed upon said hair, curling delightfully upon Blue Eyes’ forehead, Erik had been genuinely surprised. This clearly made the man a Plant regular, which should have been a point against him — a massive point — yet here Erik was, seeking him out regardless. Blue Eyes had looked up at him then, gifting him with a smile and acknowledging him with a nod, before returning to a set of what Erik had to guess were re-printed term papers.

Such was the story of how Erik had become a regular customer with a regular order.

Most days Blue Eyes was there before he came in, sometimes working on laptop or in a notebook, other times reading a book or a journal. Erik had caught a title once — The Oxford Journal of Genetics — which led him to conclude, that along with clearly being a professor, this proved the man must have a brain to back up the looks. Another point in his favour, as Erik had no patience for stupidity, no matter how pretty a package it came in.

Erik’s day was such that he usually needed to take his order to go. The few days where he could scrape together a few extra minutes, he grabbed his own table. He hadn’t once attempted to kid himself that it was because he enjoyed the ambience— that level of denial would have been absurd. No, it was clearly so he could spend a few extra minutes trying to stare, in a way that wasn’t blatantly obvious, at his… crush. Crush. He might as well think the word because that’s what it was. Only days after meeting him, Erik had caught himself, pen poised, about to doodle hearts on his notepad at a meeting. The mental pinch and knowing look Emma had sent his way had made him extra testy for the rest of the day. The wide berth everyone but Emma had given him was a testament to that.

And yet…

He never approached Blue Eyes. They exchanged nods, occasional hellos, but never anything more. Out of all of his out of character behaviour — and there was a lot of it at this point — this rattled him most. Erik had a reputation in professional and personal circles. He was confident, forbidding, occasionally arrogant, and brazen in pursuing designs no one else thought possible to execute. Erik went after what he wanted in life with borderline fanaticism.

He did not sit and observe from afar, mentally warring with himself, while also berating himself, for not having the balls to ask to join him, or buy him another tea, or inquire as to what he was reading. There were any number of conversational openings, but 24th latte in, he still hadn’t taken any of them. With each passing day the side of him that decided against it (or ‘chickened out’ as the nastier part of his mind supplied) became stronger and stronger. Blue Eyes hadn’t engaged with him either. Maybe he wasn’t gay. Maybe Erik wasn’t his type. Maybe he was already in a relationship. The chances that he was being just as melodramatic as Erik was being in his own head seemed slim. So, Erik continued to act foolish — alternately wondering how long he would continue to do so and how good a kisser Blue Eyes might be with lips like that.

It was on latte #26 that everything changed— no thanks to Erik.

He had decided to sit at a table that day and engage in his usual ‘I’m staring but I’m not staring’ routine. He was in the ‘not-staring’ portion, scrolling through his emails without really paying attention to any of them, when he was startled out of it by the chair across from him suddenly becoming occupied.

Blue Eyes.

“I can’t take it anymore.”

“Wha—”

“You come in here every day. Every day. Sometimes you stay, sometimes you don’t. It’s baffling because there is one thing I know for certain— you hate it here. No, you loathe it. And, there are literally dozens of other coffee houses within walking distance. You clearly don’t belong—” Blue Eyes gestured up and down at what was likely Erik’s three piece suit, then at Plant in general, where there wasn’t a single person so much as sporting dress pants. Erik counted at least two man buns, one head of dreadlocks and a form of baggy pants Erik didn’t even have a name for. “—and I am fascinated by things that don’t belong. Things that don’t make sense. Puzzles. You don’t make sense. There is no way the coffee is that good. And yet, here you are. Oh! Where are my manners? I’m Charles.”

Blue Eyes — no, Charles — extended his hand across the table and, reflexively, Erik took it, shaking it gingerly.

Charles laughed. “I don’t bite. I entirely talk too much, ask anyone, but I don’t bite.”

Erik rather wished that he did.

“How did you— my suit?”

Thankfully, Charles seemed to follow his meaning. “Oh no, the suit is only corroborating evidence. As is the way you look down your nose at everything in here. It’s your mind.” Charles tapped his temple. “Telepath. I swear to you I haven’t dug any deeper than the surface swirl of utter distaste for this establishment. Then I’d know, wouldn’t I? Wouldn’t be here asking.”

Telepath. Blue E— Charles was a mutant. Erik was fairly certain his knees went a little weak. Good thing they were sitting. However… what on earth could he say? ‘I’ve essentially been stalking you’ hardly seemed like an opener that was going to get him where he wanted to be. Erik cleared his throat, buying time, as those keen eyes continued to look at him expectantly. While Erik wasn’t verbose, he also never found himself at a loss for words, except for here and now, where the truth was exceptionally embarrassing.

His pause, it seemed, went on too long because Charles jumped back into the fray. “Good lord, I’ve ambushed you, haven’t I? Clearly, you don’t have to answer the mad man who mowed you down on the sidewalk and then ambushed the peaceful solitude of your morning coffee. I apologize and will bugger right off if you tell me to. However, if it helps any, I don’t like it here either. It’s trying too bloody hard to be ‘on trend,’ isn’t it? For a cultural subset who pride themselves on not being pretentious they’ve entirely failed, haven’t they? And, I’m English, I know pretentious.” He laughed self-depreciatingly at that.

A beat for his mind to catch up to the second verbal barrage and Erik finally had a response. “If you like it as little as I do, then why are you here?”

Charles’ mouth formed a perfect little ‘o’ of surprise. He scratched the back of his neck and, for a moment, looked everywhere but Erik. “Blast. I’m caught, aren’t I?”

His cheeks reddened adorably. Since when did Erik find anything adorable? Since now, apparently. This man broke all of his rules.

Charles gave an adorable (christ) little shrug of his shoulders. “I suppose I best come clean.” He looked Erik squarely in the eye. “You’re gorgeous. You bought me tea. I came back thinking I’d ask you out. But you’re so… I lost my nerve. Have been doing the same daily ever since.”

“I’m so… ?”

The cheeks reddened further.

“Entirely too gorgeous for me.” Charles gestured at today’s grandfatherly cardigan. “Besides that—”

“You’re perfect.”

Fucking hell. When had his mind decided to say things without his permission?

It produced another, adorable, surprised little ‘o’. “I’m sorry— What?”

In for a penny…

“I had never set foot in Plant before we crashed into each other. Never would have because I do hate everything about it. Everything except you, who I thought were a regular—”

“I thought you were a regular.”

“— and wanted to ask you out.”

“I’d never been here before ei— you wanted to ask me out?”

They stopped, collective words sinking into respective minds.

Charles threw his head back, laughing. “If I didn’t know better—“ He tapped his temple again. “— I’d think you’re having me on.”

His laughter was infectious and Erik found he was smiling despite himself. He gave his own little shrug. “I don’t lie.”

“No, you don’t, do you? I can’t believe we both—”

“Me either.”

“This is too much. Wait… Why are we still here?”

“I’m sorry?”

Charles leaned forward and plucked Erik’s latte with oat mylk from his hand. “Can I buy you a coffee? A real coffee? Where they know how to spell the word milk? At the cafe I actually frequented before I began co-starring with you in a romcom so terrible my sister wouldn’t even watch it?”

He was already standing up, as if assured Erik would say yes, which every single bone in his body was blaring loudly for him to do. It didn’t seem to matter to any part of him that he would be blowing off work, a thought he discarded as quickly as it appeared. Just another out of character thing to add to the list. He followed. “I’m Erik, by the way.”

Charles looked back, as he collected his belongings, and grinned sheepishly. “I know.”

That was the last time Erik set foot in Plant until exactly a year later. He ordered latte #27 with Blue-Eyed Charles on his arm, after having crossed the street from their apartment, to celebrate their first anniversary. As Charles smiled at him over his Earl Gray with mylk, Erik found he couldn’t quite hate the damned coffee shop as much as he had before.

[wlntrsldler]

Tell Me That You Love Me (James Potter x Reader)

PROMPT: James and Y/N are friends with benefits. She fell in love with the Gryffindor, who’s too busy being in love with Lily Evans to realize. After a night of drinking, the truth comes out. 

WARNINGS: mentions of smut (not detailed), underaged drinking, sexual tension, angst? 

WC: 3.5K+ (sorry, i got carried away)

HP MASTERLIST

This is my submission for @heloisedaphnebrightmore‘s 1K follower challenge! Congratulations, love! 

Trope: Unrequited Love

“Stop sending me mixed signals.”

“Can you kiss me? One last time?”

pt. 2

-

tell me that you love me (j.p one shot)

You watched from the corner of the room as the entire Gryffindor Common Room erupted in laughter as the Marauders told the story of one of their infamous pranks. James was positively glowing, dancing under the moonlight that managed to sneak through the curtains. In his hand was a cup, that no doubt contained his alcoholic concoctions that nobody but he dared to try. His eyes closed in glee as he threw his head back in laughter, watching Sirius mimic the way Snape looked after their successful prank. 

You smiled behind your cup, truly enchanted by the boy you found yourself longing for. When you said yes to your agreement, you thought your biggest worry would be an unexpected pregnancy, caused by two teenagers who were too careless for their own good. You thought your biggest worry would be the teasing from the rest of the Marauders— which still happened, just not to the extremity that you expected. You thought that your biggest worry would be some awkward tension after the first time between you and James, that you knew would subside eventually. 

You never thought that you’d fall in love— fall so stupidly, irretrievably, and hopelessly, in love with the boy who loved another. 

You watched his eyes follow Lily as she walked across the room, chatting away with her friends about her latest Potions assignment. James didn’t even try to conceal his affections for her. He always loved her so loudly, as if his silence would mean he loved her any less than he actually did. You just had to sit back and watch as her rejections only fueled him to try harder. It was somewhat admirable, though you knew that you would’ve found it more endearing had you not been in love with him. 

James finally tore his eyes away from Lily, sensing you looking at him from afar. He flashed you a toothy grin, completely oblivious to the thoughts that were plaguing your mind and the butterflies that swarmed in your stomach. A playful smirk tugged his lips as he furrowed his eyebrows, lifting his hand up to call you over. 

You shook your head, politely declining as you sipped from your cup. He rolled his eyes, dramatically sighing before making his way to you. He planted himself right in front of you, leaning against the post that was beside him. James ran his fingers down from the top of your arm to your fingers, absentmindedly twisting his fingers with yours. He’s always been an affectionate friend, these simple actions were normal for the both of you, but it didn’t stop your cheeks from burning red. 

He chuckled, watching your reaction, “Do I make you flustered, Y/N? After all this time? After all we’ve done together, me touching your hand, is what gets you flustered?” 

You shoved him, shaking your head to deny his claims, “The alcohol is getting to me, Potter. Don’t flatter yourself.” 

“The alcohol?” he asked, not believing any of your words, “You’ve barely touched your drink. I’m pretty sure you’ve been sipping that drink for the last hour.” 

“Well, excuse me if I don’t want to be pissed drunk tonight,” you hummed, chugging your drink down anyway. 

James licked his lips, watching the lone drop of alcohol slip past your pink lips. He brushed it away with his thumb, collecting the liquid before letting his own tongue taste it. His thumb stayed on top of his lips for a while, keeping you in a trance. You watched his tongue dart out of his mouth, softly licking the pad of his thumb, a teasing smile on his lips. He knew exactly what he was doing to you. 

“Atta girl,” he whispered, peering down at your cup to see it empty. He turned around, picking up a bottle of firewhisky and pouring a generous amount into your cup, “Are you sure you don’t want to be pissed drunk tonight, sweetheart? It’s a good night for it.” 

“I can think of a better way to spend the night.” 

“Oh?” James cocked an eyebrow, a twinkle of mischief evident in his eye. His eyes trailed down your body, capturing his bottom lip between his teeth in the process. “Wanna get out of here?” 

You ignored your better judgement— the voice in your head that told you to put yourself first for once. Deep down you knew you would feel terrible when you woke up to an empty bed in the morning, knowing James never once spent the night. You knew you’d have to smile and nod the next day over breakfast, as James gushed about how gorgeous Lily was. You knew you’d end up alone at the end of the day, at the end of it all. 

But you couldn’t deny him, especially not when he’s looking as handsome as he does with his hair slicked back perfectly and a boyish innocence on his face. He patiently waited for your response, even though he knew you would say yes. James tucked a piece of your hair behind your ear, humming in content when you finally nodded. 

His eyes lit up, already getting ready to slip past everyone in the small party to sneak up to your dormitory. James took the cup from your hands and placed it mindlessly on the table next to him. He pointed towards the stairs with his head, motioning for you to follow him. And like a lost puppy, like you always did, you followed right behind him. 

You were almost at the start of the steps, going undetected for the most part, before Peter stopped the both of you. His hand tapped James’ shoulder, causing James to look at him impatiently. Peter didn’t realize what he was interrupting, starting up a conversation with you and James, to which you replied to with one word answers. 

James shot you an apologetic look, intertwining your hands together. He mouthed, “Sorry.” 

Clearing your throat, you finally spoke up with a sentence to offer the babbling boy, “Hey, Peter. James and I were just going to get some important stuff done, is there something in particular that you needed us for?”

The boy paused as if trying to remember if there was something important. Then he snapped up, tuning to face James, “Oh! Lily is looking for you.” 

And just like that, you became nobody to James Potter. 

His hand let go of yours as he pushed past you, running to where Lily stood. You grunted as his shoulder collided with yours, hissing in pain as you began to massage it. You watched his smile reach from ear to ear, heart breaking as he looked at Lily with pure adoration in his eyes. You let out a breath you didn’t even realize you were holding before stealing the cup that stayed untouched in Peter’s hand, drowning it in one go. 

You coughed, a scowl evident on your face, “What in the hell was that?” 

“Dunno,” he shrugged, “Prongs made it.” 

“Dammit,” you muttered, already anticipating a mean hangover the next day. “So much for not getting pissed drunk.”

It seemed like tonight was just the night of bad decisions. You continued to ignore your better judgement, taking any and every drink being offered to you. You figured that if you weren’t going to get laid tonight, you might as well get drunk. Sirius shot you a wink as he slid over a cup with clear liquid in it. 

You stared at it, fearing that it would be the last shot you take before you pass out. You lost count of how many drinks you’ve had over the past hour and a half. You shook your head, sliding it back to him, “No more for me, Pads.” 

“Come on, Y/N/N,” he groaned, sliding it back to you again, “You’re the only one who can keep up with me.” 

You reluctantly took the cup in your hand, ignoring Sirius’ silent celebration that you’re still standing with him. You drank the liquid quickly, gagging at the awful taste it left in your mouth, “You will literally be the death of me, Sirius Black.” 

“Don’t go dying on me, Y/L/N,” Sirius chuckled, bidding you a goodbye, “We’re supposed to live forever!” 

You sat on the couch, watching as students began to head up to their dormitories. It felt like you were silently watching everyone’s life pass you by, noticing things that you probably wouldn’t have paid any attention to if you were sober. You noticed two fifth years giggling and scurrying away to the girls’ dormitories, hands roaming each other’s bodies. The boy began to kiss up her neck and she pulled him flush to her chest before they disappeared into the night. 

James was alone now, a goofy smile still on his face. He saw you sitting by yourself and plopped down next to you, half leaning on your body for support. He smelled different— like strawberries and flowers, like Lily. He let his head fall onto your lap. You sent him a tight-lipped smile, brushing his hair away from his forehead with your fingers. He snuggled deeper into your touch, a giddy hum slipping past his parted lips. Your mind was hazy, the alcohol finally catching up to you. You closed your eyes for a quick second, trying to calm the pounding in your head. 

James poked your side, startling your moment of peace, “You tired?” 

“You can say that,” you nodded, eyes fluttering closed. The alcohol in your system took over your senses. Words began to slip past your lips before you could think them through, “Stay?”

He looked up at you, his head laying flat on your lap. James knew he shouldn’t stay. It would be weird— two friends falling asleep on the couch together, friends who also happen to have sex every other day, but he looked at your tired figure and decided one night wouldn’t hurt. He awkwardly wrapped his arm around your waist, “Sure, Y/N/N.” 

“Thanks, Prongs.”

James stared at the ceiling, thinking of Lily. He was making progress, he knew it. Lily was now looking for him, wanting to talk to him first. He smiled to himself, replaying their short conversations in his mind. He stirred around, shifting his body to fit snugly on the couch. He had so much energy in his body from the alcohol and the adrenaline he got after he walked Lily back to her dormitory. James could’ve swore she blushed when he wished her a goodnight. 

He felt you move from under him, an indication that you were still awake, as he was. James cleared his throat, his voice hoarse from not speaking for a while, “Hey, Y/N/N?”

You kept your eyes closed, “Yes?” 

“Do you think Lily would ever fall in love with me?” 

Your eyes opened up, his words sparking a fuse in you. Suddenly, you were wide awake, the tiredness from the drinks you had were now replaced with boldness and to your dismay, recklessness. Without missing a beat you replied, “She’d be crazy not to.” 

“Yeah?” he asked, fondness laced through his voice. He looked up at you, extending his neck to be able to stare at you in the eyes. “You really think so?” 

 “‘Course, Prongs,” you gulped, trying to disguise the tears in your eyes as glossiness from your high. You decided to cut the tension with a joke, hoping that he won’t take notice of the way your voice shook as you spoke, “But then again, you can be pretty annoying so I wouldn’t blame her if she wanted nothing to do with you.” 

“Stop sending me mixed signals,” he groaned, sitting up from his earlier spot. “You know I’m in love with her.” 

You instantly missed his weight on you, a pang of jealousy hit you square in the chest. You let yourself smile at his words, fighting back the feelings that wanted to burst out of you. The liquid courage wasn’t helping the cause. You pushed his shoulder playfully, “Only joking. Lily would be absolutely mental not to fall in love with you, too.” 

Your words gave James new-found hope. He began to talk about how beautiful Lily was, completely ignoring the way you faced away from him as he began to declare his love for her, yet again. You sniffled quietly, wiping your tears away with the sleeve of your jumper. James continued to speak, looking at the fire in the distance, love practically oozing out of eyes. 

He sighed, adoringly in love, “She’s the best girl I’ve ever met, Y/N/N. Like I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone as great as her. Merlin! I don’t think I’d ever meet anyone as great as her. Isn’t she amazing?” 

You weakly nodded, exhausted from holding in your sobs, “Yeah, Prongs she is.”

“Yeah, and she’s so smart— Hey, what’s wrong?” he frowned, noticing the tears that stubbornly slipped from your eyes, “Why are you crying?” 

You couldn’t help but laugh at the boy in front of you— completely panicked, trying to figure out how on earth he should comfort a woman. You stared at him, feeling yourself fall deeper and deeper with every breath that he let past his lips. You cupped his face with your hand, knowing full well that you were no longer in control of your thoughts. If he were to ask you what’s wrong again, you were going to tell him. All of your sober thoughts will be spilled by your drunk self. 

So you let yourself take advantage of this moment— this final moment— before you let go of James Potter forever. 

You rubbed his cheekbone with the pad of your thumb, running over the new scar he got from playing Quidditch last week. You stared at his lips, remembering the way they felt like home whenever he kissed you. You studied his features, knowing it will be a long time from now before you get to be this close to him again. You smiled at him sadly, trying to look past the look of confusion on his beautiful face. 

“Prongs,” you whispered, lips trembling, “Prongs, I… I’m in love with you.” 

He sat there for a moment, completely silent, before he backed away from your touch. He backed up until his back hit the other side of the couch, wincing as the hard cushion jabbed against the small of his back. He stared at you in disbelief. James thought his ears were deceiving him because you? In love with him? That wasn’t possible. A nervous chuckle filled the silence, “Good one, Y/N.” 

You sighed, dropping your head in your hands. You knew you had half your foot in the door at this point, there was no turning back now. You spoke into your palms, “I wish I was kidding.” 

“But-... Y/N, we- no, no. We agreed, didn’t we?” he ran his fingers through his hair, tugging at the ends of it in frustration. “We agreed we wouldn’t catch feelings! I agreed, Y/N. You did too!”

“Sorry my feelings didn’t follow our binding contract,” you sarcastically remarked, half-irritated and half-nervous at his words, “I don’t know if you’re aware, Prongs, but feelings don’t really follow the rules.” 

“Y/N,” he sighed angrily, pacing over to you. “No! This—” he motioned between the two of you, “—can’t happen.” 

You knew the answer to your next question, but you couldn’t stop yourself from asking it anyway, “Why not James?” 

“You know why.” 

“Say it, anyway.” 

“I’m not gonna say it now that I know—”

You pushed back, “Know what?” 

James waved his hands around like a maniac, “This! You! Us! Now that I know about how you feel…. Ugh, Merlin’s beard, Y/N! I’m not gonna say it just to hurt you.”

“Why not?” you spat, getting up to confront him. “You didn’t have a problem gushing to me about your precious Lily a few minutes ago. Didn’t seem to have a problem talking about her right after you pull out of me, every single damn time. Prongs, you didn’t have a problem saying it then!”

“Because I didn’t know!” his voice was stern, but he lowered his volume, becoming aware of the time. He didn’t want to wake anyone up and have them listen into this conversation that the two of you were having now. “Y/N, I didn’t know that you… felt this way.” 

You flinched as he shuddered, “No need to act like it’s the plague, James. My feelings for you aren’t bad.” 

He ignored your comment, pacing back and forth in front of the fire, “Y/N, why?”

“Why what?”

“Why did you fall in love with me?” he asked, grimacing as the words rolled off his tongue, “Why did you not say anything before your feelings got stronger? We could’ve stopped this! Why now? Just… why?”

You pondered his questions for a moment, trying to figure out how you were going to phrase your words together. You took a deep breath, “I-I didn’t mean to, James. Trust me, if I realized that I was falling in love with you, I would’ve stopped this too. It’s just.. It happened so fast, Prongs. I think I woke up one day and it just clicked, y’know?” 

You let out a wet chuckle, hoping that he would laugh along with you. 

He didn’t. 

You continued, “I think a part of me always has been in love with you, even before we made this deal or whatever you wanna call it. It just took me a while to realize it and once I did, I was selfish. I thought you’d realize that maybe you had feelings for me too.” 

“You’re drunk,” he finally said. He shook his head, refusing to believe the words that he was hearing. “You’re just drunk and talking out your arse.”

“Potter, I’m serious!” you groaned, you pulled him by his forearm, twisting him around to face you. His chest collided with yours, the close proximity making you shiver. You felt his fingers touch the skin of your back, exposed by your jumper that hiked up. His hands found their way to your hips, like it always did. “I’m so in love with you, James. Is there any part of you that feels the same way?” 

He stopped breathing. James’ eyes flickered between your eyes and your lips. His head slowly inched closer to yours, leaning down in an angle that seemed to almost capture your lips in a kiss. You felt his breath exhale from his mouth, the scent of firewhisky clouding your senses. You closed your eyes, awaiting the familiar feeling of his lips on yours. The feeling that you dreamt about every night and wished to wake up to every morning. 

But it never came. 

James’ hand pulled away from your skin, as if he was burned by touching you. He didn’t back away yet, he just let himself stand with his chest pressed against yours, but not daring to do anything else. His forehead knocked against yours softly, squeezing his eyes shut as he felt your eyelashes tickle his cheeks. You reluctantly opened your eyes, knowing that the minute you two made eye contact would be the end of whatever it was that you shared— agreement, friendship, relationship, whatever it was, will only be a memory. 

James opened his eyes, moving his head away from yours. He stared into your eyes, feeling guilty for the next words that he was about to say. He whispered, so softly, you almost didn’t catch it, “I’m in love with Lily.” 

A choked sob escaped your body, despite your protests against it. You quickly placed a hand over your mouth, not missing the way James cringed at the sound. You managed to put on a smile, although it was a pathetic one, you were proud of yourself for it. You nodded, weakly, feeling him pull away from you, “I know.” 

James walked backwards on his way back to the boys’ dormitories. He couldn’t take his eyes off you, so vulnerable and broken and alone in the middle of the Common Room. He stopped before he reached the first step, debating on what he should do next. 

You met his eyes, seeing the pity that filled them. Your pride was already long gone. It left the minute you confessed your love for him, knowing full well he was in love with someone else. So you spoke up before he disappeared into the dark of the night, before he left your life forever, “Can you kiss me? One last time?” 

“Y/N…”

You closed your eyes, breathing out of your nose. Your chest grew heavy, knowing him well enough to know what that tone of his voice meant. No. 

When you opened your eyes again, you were met with an empty Common Room. You stared at the spot where James once stood, listening to the sound of his receding footsteps tapping against the steps as he walked up to his dormitory. 

[army-of-mai-lovers]

Jet and Yue’s Deaths: Were They Necessary?

Two of the most common ideas I see for aus in this fandom are the Jet lives au, and the Yue lives au. I’ve written both of these myself, and I’ve seen many others write them. And while yes, fanfiction can be a great way to explore ideas that didn’t necessarily have to be explored in canon (I’m mad at bryke for a lot of things, but not including a Toph and Bumi I friendship is not one of them, even though I wrote a fic about it), it seems to me that people are mad that Yue and Jet are dead, to varying degrees. There’s a lot to talk about regarding their deaths from a sociopolitical perspective (the fact that two of the darker-skinned characters in the show are the ones that died, and all the light-skinned characters lived, is ah... an interesting choice), but I don’t want to look at it that way, at least for right now. I want to look at it as a writer, and discuss whether these deaths were a) necessary for the plot and themes of ATLA in any way whatsoever and b) whether it was necessary for them to unfold in the way that they did, or if they would have been more impactful had they occurred in a different way. 

(meta under the cut, this got really, really, really long)

Death in Children’s Media

When I first started thinking about this meta, I had this idea to compare Jet and Yue’s deaths to deaths in an animated children’s show that I found satisfying. And in theory, that was a great idea. Problem is: there aren’t very many permanent deaths in children’s animation, and the ones that do exist aren’t especially well-written. This may be an odd thing to say in what is ostensibly a piece of atla crit, but Yue’s death is probably the best written death in a piece of children’s animation that I can think of. That’s not a compliment. Rather, it’s a condemnation of the way other pieces of children’s animation featuring permanent character death have handled their storylines. 

I’ve talked about this before, but my favorite show growing up was Young Justice, and my favorite character on that show was far and away Mr. Wally West. So when he died at the end of season 2, it broke me emotionally. Shortly thereafter, Cartoon Network canceled the show, and I started getting on fan forums to mourn. Everybody on these fan forums was convinced that had Cartoon Network not canceled the show, Wally would have been brought back. And that is a narrative that I internalized for years. Eventually, the show was brought back via DC’s new streaming service, and I tuned in, waiting for Wally to also be brought back, only to discover that that wasn’t in the cards. Wally was dead. Permanently. 

So now that I know that, I can talk about why killing him off was fucking stupid. Wally’s death occurs at the end of season 2, after the main s2 conflict, the Reach, has been defeated, save for these pods that they set up all over the world to destroy Earth. Our heroes split up in teams of two to destroy the pods, and they destroy all of them, except for a secret one in Antartica. It can only be neutralized by speedsters, so Wally, Bart, and Barry team up to destroy it. It’s established in canon that Wally is slower than Bart and Barry, and it’s been played for laughs earlier in the season, but for reasons unexplained, the pod is better able to target Wally because he’s slower than Bart and Barry, and it kills him. After the emotional arc of the season has wrapped up, a literal main character dies. There’s some indication at the end of that season that his death is going to cause Artemis to spiral and become a villain, but when season 3 picks up, she’s doing the right thing, with seemingly no qualms about her position in life as a hero. In the comics, something like this happens to Wally, but then he goes into the Speed Force and becomes faster and stronger even than Barry, in which case, yes, this would have advanced the plot, but that’s probably not in the cards either. 

In summary, Wally’s death doesn’t work as a story beat, not because it made me mad, but because it doesn’t advance the plot, nor does it develop character. Only including things that advance plot or develop character is one of the golden rules of writing. Like most golden rules of writing, however, it’s not absolute. There is a lot of fun to be had in jokey little one off adventures (in atla, Sokka’s haiku competition) or in fun worldbuilding threads that add depth to your setting but don’t really come up (in atla, the existence of Whaletail Island, which is described in really juicy ways, even though the characters never go there.) But in general, when it comes to things like character death, events should happen to develop the plot or advance character. Avatar, for all of its flaws, is really well structured, and a lot of its story beats advance plot and develop character at the same time. However, the show also bears the burden of being a show directed at children, and thus needing to be appropriate for children. And as we know, Nickelodeon and bryke butted heads over this: the death scene that we see for Jet is a compromise, one that implicitly confirms his death without explicitly showing it. So bryke tasked themselves with creating a show about imperialism and war that would do those themes justice while also being appropriate for American children and palatable to their parents. 

The Themes of Avatar vs. Its Audience

So, Avatar is a show about a lone survivor of genocide stopping an imperialist patriarchal society from decimating the rest of the world. It’s also a show about found family and staying true to yourself and doing your best to improve the world. These don’t necessarily conflict with each other, and it is possible for children to understand and enjoy shows about complex themes. And in a lot of cases, bryke doesn’t hold back in showing what the costs of war against an imperialist nation are: losing loved ones, losing yourself, prison, etc. But when it comes to death, the show is incredibly hesitant. None of the main characters that we’ve spent a lot of time getting to know die (not even Iroh, even though he was old and it would have made sense and his VA died before the show was over--but that’s a topic for another day.) This makes sense. I can totally imagine a seven year-old watching Avatar as it was coming out and feeling really sad or scared if a major character died. I was six years older than that when Wally died, and it’s still sad and terrifying to me to this day. However, in a show about war, it would be unrealistic to have no one die. Bryke’s stated reason for killing off Jet is to show the costs of war. I’ve seen a lot of posts about Jet’s death that reiterate some version of this same point--that the great tragedy of his character is that he spent his life fighting the Fire Nation, only to die at the hands of his own country. Similarly, I’ve seen people argue in favor of Yue’s death by saying that it was a great tragedy, but it showed the sacrifices that must be made in a war effort. 

Yue

When we first meet Yue, she is a somewhat reserved, kind individual held back by the rigid social structures of the NWT*. She and Sokka have an immediate attraction to one another, but Yue reveals that she is engaged to Hahn. The Fire Nation invasion happens, Zhao kills Tui, and Yue gives up her life to save her people and the world, and to restore balance. Since we didn’t have a lot of time to get to know Yue, this is framed less as Yue’s sacrifice and more as Sokka’s loss. Sokka is the one who cares for Yue, Sokka is the only one of the gaang who really interacts a lot with Yue on screen, and Sokka is the one we’ve spent a whole season getting to know. While I wouldn’t go so far as to call Yue a prop character (i.e. a character who could be replaced by an object with little change to the narrative), she is certainly underdeveloped. She exists to be unambiguously likable and good, so we can root for her and Sokka, and feel Sokka’s pain when she dies. In my opinion, this is probably also why a lot of fic that features Yue depicts her as a Mary Sue--because as she is depicted in the show, she kind of is. We don’t get to see her hidden depths because she is written to die. 

In light of what we’ve established earlier in this meta, this makes sense. Killing off a fully-realized character whom the audience has really gotten to know and care about on their own terms, rather than through the eyes of another character, could be really sad and scary for the kids watching, but not killing anyone off would be an unrealistic depiction of war and imperialism. On the face of it, killing off an underdeveloped, unambiguously likable and good character, whom one of our MCs has a deep but short connection with, is the perfect compromise. 

But let’s go back to the golden rule for a second. Does Yue’s death a) advance the plot, and/or b) develop character? The answer to the first is yes: Yue’s death prompts Aang to use the Avatar State to fight off the Fire navy, which has implications for his ability to control the Avatar State that form one of the major arcs of book 2. The answer to the second? A little more ambiguous. You would think that Yue’s death would have some lasting impact on Sokka that is explored as part of his character arc in book 2, that he may be more afraid to trust, more scared of losing the people he loves, but outside of a few episodes (really, just one I can think of, “The Swamp”) it doesn’t seem to affect him that much. He even asks about Suki in a way that is clearly romantically motivated in “Avatar Day.” I don’t know about you, but if someone I loved sacrificed herself to become the moon, I don’t think I would be seeking out another romantic entanglement a few weeks after her death. Of course, everybody processes grief differently, and one could argue that Sokka has already lost important people in his life, and thus would be accustomed to moving on from that loss and not letting himself dwell on it. But to that, I’d say that moving on by throwing himself into protecting others has already shown itself to be an unhealthy coping mechanism. Remember, Sokka’s misogyny at the beginning of b1 is in part motivated by the fact that his mother died at the hands of the Fire Nation and his father left shortly thereafter to fight the Fire Nation, and he responds to those things by throwing himself into the role of being the “man” of the village and protecting the people he loves who are still with him. Like with Yue, he doesn’t allow himself to dwell on his mother’s death. This could have been the beginning of a really interesting b2 arc for Sokka, in which he throws himself into being the Avatar’s companion to get away from the grief of losing Yue, but this time, through the events of the show, he’s forced to acknowledge that this is an unhealthy coping mechanism. And maybe this is what bryke was going for with “The Swamp”, but this confines his whole process of grief to one episode, where it could have been a season-long arc that really emphasized the effect Yue’s had on his life. 

In the case of Yue, I do lean toward saying that her death was necessary for the story that they wanted to tell (although, I will never turn down a good old-fashioned Yue lives au that really gets into her dynamism as a character, those are awesome.) However, the way they wrote Sokka following Yue’s death reduced her significance. The fact that Yue seemed to have so little impact on Sokka is precisely what makes her death feel unnecessary, even if it isn’t. 

Jet

Okay. Here we go. 

If you know my blog, you know I love Jet. You know I love Jet lives aus. Perhaps you know that I’m in the process of writing a multichapter Jet fic in which he lives after Lake Laogai. So it’s reasonable to assume that, in a discussion of whether or not Jet’s death was necessary, I’m gonna be mega-biased. And yeah, that’s probably true. But up until recently, I wasn’t really all that mad about Jet dying, at least conceptually. As I said earlier, bryke says that in the case of Jet’s death, they wanted to kill a character off that people knew and would care about, so that they could further show the tragedies of war and imperialism. Okay. That is not, in and of itself, a bad idea. 

My issue lies with the execution of said idea. First of all, the framing of Jet’s original episode is so bad. Jet is part of a long line of cartoon villains who resist imperialism and other forms of oppression through violence and are punished for it. This is actually a really common sort of villain for atla/lok, as we see this play out again with Hama, Amon, and the Red Lotus. To paraphrase hbomberguy’s description of this type of villain, basically liberal white creators are saying, “yeah, oppression is bad, but have you tried writing to your Congressman about it?” With Jet, since we have so little information about the village he’s trying to flood, there are a number of different angles that would explain his actions and give them more nuance. My preferred hc is that the citizens of Gaipan are a mix of Earth civilians, Fire citizens, and FN soldiers, and that the Earth citizens refused to feed or house Jet and the other Freedom Fighters because they were orphans and, as we see in the Kyoshi Novels, Earth families stick to their own. Thus, when Jet decides to flood Gaipan, he’s focused on ridding the valley of Fire Nation, but he doesn’t really care about what happens to the Earth citizens of Gaipan because they actively wronged him when he was a kid. That’s just one interpretation, and there have been others: Gaipan was fully Fire Nation, Gaipan was both Earth Kingdom and Fire Nation but Jet decided that the benefits of flooding the valley and getting rid of the Fire Nation outweighed the costs of losing the EK families, etc, etc. There are ways to rewrite that scenario so that Jet is not framed as an unambiguously bloodthirsty monster. In the context of Jet’s death, this initial framing reduces the possible impact that his death could have. Where Yue was unambiguously good, Jet is at the very least morally gray when we see him again in the ferry. And where we are connected to Yue through Sokka, the gaang’s active hatred of Jet hinders our ability to connect with him. This isn’t impossible to overcome--the gaang hates Zuko, and yet to an extent the audience roots for him--but Jet’s lack of screentime and nuanced framing (both of which Zuko gets in all three seasons) makes overcoming his initially flawed framing really difficult. 

So how much can it really be said, that by the time we get to Jet’s death, he’s a character that we know and care about? So much about him is still unknown (what happened to the Freedom Fighters? what prompted Jet’s offscreen redemption? who knows, fam, who knows.) Moreover, most of what we see of him in Ba Sing Se is him actively opposing Zuko and Iroh. These are both characters that at the very least the show wants us to care about. At this point, we know almost everything there is to know about them, we’ve been following them and to an extent rooting for them for two seasons, and who have had nuanced and often sympathetic framing a number of times. So much of the argument I’ve seen regarding Jet centers around the fact that he was right to expose Zuko and Iroh as Firebenders, but the reason we have to have that argument in the first place is because it’s not framed in Jet’s favor. In terms of who the audience cares about more, who the audience has more of an emotional attachment towards, Zuko and Iroh win every time. Whether Jet’s actually in the right or not is irrelevant, because emotionally speaking, we’re primed to root for Zuko and Iroh. In terms of who the framing is biased towards, Jet may as well be Zhao. So when he’s taken by the Dai Li and brainwashed, the audience isn’t necessarily going to see this as a bad thing, because it means Zuko and Iroh are safe.

The only real bit of sympathetic framing Jet gets are those initial moments on the ferry, and the moments after he and the gaang meet again. So about five, ten minutes of the show, total. And then, he sacrifices himself for the gaang. And just like Yue, his death has little to no impact on the characters in the episodes following. Katara is shown crying for four frames immediately following his death, and they bring him up once in “The Southern Raiders” to call him a monster, and once in “The Ember Island Players”, a joke episode in which his death is a joke. 

So, let’s ask again. Does this a) advance the plot, and/or b) develop character? The answer to both is no. It shows that the Dai Li is super evil and cruel, which we already knew and which basically becomes irrelevant in book 3, and that is really the only plot-significant thing I can think of. As far as character, well, it could have been a really interesting moment in Katara’s development in forgiving someone who hurt her in the past, which could have foreshadowed her forgiving Zuko in b3, but considering she calls Jet a monster in TSR, that doesn’t track. There could have been something with Sokka realizing that his snap judgment of Jet in b1 was wrong, but considering that he brings up Jet to criticize Katara in TSR, that also does not track. And honestly, neither of these possible character arcs require Jet to die. What requires Jet to die is the ~themes~. 

Let’s look at this theme again, shall we? The cost of war. We already covered it with Yue, but it’s clearly something that bryke wants to return to and shed new light on. The obvious angle they’re going for is that sometimes, you don’t know who your real enemy is. Jet thought that his enemy was the Fire Nation, but in the end, he was taken down by his own countryman. Wow. So deep. Except, while it’s clear that Jet was always fighting against the Fire Nation, I never got the sense that Jet was fighting for the Earth Kingdom. After all, isn’t the whole bad thing about him in the beginning is that he wants to kill civilians, some of whom we assume to be Earth Kingdom? Why would it matter then that he got killed by an EK leader, when he didn’t seem to ever be too hot on those dudes? But okay, maybe the angle is not that he was killed by someone from the Earth Kingdom, but that he wasn’t killed by someone from the Fire Nation. Okay, but we’ve already seen him be diametrically opposed to the only living Air Nomad and people from the Water Tribes. Jet fighting with and losing to people who aren’t Fire Nation is not a new and exciting development for him. Jet has been enemies with non-FN characters for most of the show’s run at this point. There is no thematic level on which the execution of this holds any water. 

The reason I got to thinking about this, really analyzing what Jet’s death means (and doesn’t mean) for the show, was this conversation I was having with @the-hot-zone in discord dms. We were talking about book 2 and ways it could have been better, and Zone said that they thought that Jet would have been a stronger character to parallel with Zuko’s redemption than Iroh and that seeing more of the narrative from Jet’s perspective could have strengthened the show’s themes. And when it came to the question of Jet’s death, they said, “And if we are going with Jet dying, then I want it to hurt. I want it to hurt just as much as if a main character like Sokka had died. I want the viewer to see Jet's struggles, his triumphs, the facets of Jet that make him compelling and important to the show.” And all of that just hit me. Because we don’t get that, do we? Jet’s death barely leaves a mark. Jet himself barely leaves a mark. His death isn’t plot-significant, doesn’t inspire character growth in any of our MCs, and doesn’t even accomplish the thematic relevance that it claims to. So what was the point? 

Conclusion

Much as I dislike it, Yue’s death actually added something to atla. It could have added much, much more, in the hands of writers who gave more of a shit about their Brown female characters and were less intent on seeing them suffer and knocking them down a peg, but, in my opinion, it did work for what it was trying to do. Jet? Jet? Nah, fam. Jet never got the chance to really develop into a likable character because he was always put at odds with characters we already liked, and the framing skewed their way, not his. The dude never really had a chance.        

*multiple people have spoken about how the NWT as depicted in atla is not reminiscent of real life Inuit and Yupik people and culture. I am not the person to go into detail about this, but I encourage you to check out Native-run blogs for more info!

[kaiparker-avengerssmut]

Their Doll 4

Y/n Stark

B.Barnes x Reader, S.Rogers x Stark!Reader

series synopsis:  y/n Stark, all records of her non existent, and yet Hydra still find her. When she is kidnapped by a certain super-soldier and no one believes her, she finds herself searching for unexpected familiarity in her not-so-distant past.

Series Warnings: smut, violence, torture, swearing

Chapter Summary: the avengers find some stuff out about y/n

Warnings: swearing

A/n: The timeline in this has been altered, as there I things I wanted to include but I also wanted this fic to follow the storyline/timeline of Winter Soldier and Civil war.So for purposes of this fanfic, Peter Parker was discovered by Tony at a much younger age - when he was bitten - and has been an intern with him since, almost like a protégée.(For the purposes of this story Peter was bitten much younger too - more like when he was 9 or ten rather than 14/15)

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"SO there's some weird HYDRA girl locked and sedated in my basement? Cool, don't want to know." Tony dismissed, not looking up from his white mug as he tipped a generous amping of sugar into his black coffee. He swirled the liquid in the mug and turned around, leaning against the counter as he raised the drink to lips lips and took a sip before sighing intently. Bruce frowned, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Tony, I don't think you get it, I ran a DNA test and-"

"And she's probably some innocent girl that went missing years ago and was never found? I get it, I feel bad for her but at the end of the day she has nothing to do with me." Tony dismissed, pushing away from the counted to deposit his now-empty mug in the sink. He turned the tap on, rinsing out the cup before carelessly placing it on the drying rack.

"Just, please, come and see her. You won't regret it, and if you do - dinner's on me?" Bruce suggest, arms outstretched in welcome. Tony rolled his eyes, before scoffing.

"Yeah, no. I'm good. Catch you in the lab later though?" Tony was quick to deflect, exiting the room with so much as another glance. Bruce's hands feel to his side with a slap as his shoulders sagged in defeat.

...

Bruce nervously paced the lab, desperate to tell someone his horrifying discovery. The click of the door made his head snap up, a smile of relief spreading his on lips at the sight of Nat.

"Nat, finally." He sighed, walking towards the scowling girl.

"What did you need to tell me Bruce? You sounded pretty urgent when you called." She pressed, crossing her arms over her chest and raising a brow. His smile faulted, his gaze dropping to his hands where he fondled with a biro pen.

"I- uh. I made a... discovery about y/n." Bruce confessed, finally meeting Nat's eyes.

"Go on.." Nat prompted. Bruce took a deep breath, chewing on his bottom lip nervously. "Bruce-" she started.

"Y/n isn't entirely human-"

"Well we knew that much."

"It's what she is, that's shocking. Looking threw all her blood tests and whatnot - it's showing she has an ability to manipulate minds when she s-sings. It's like a certain note her voice forms that can control the minds of people around her."

"So what is she?"

"I don't know, there's not really a name-"

"A siren. She's a siren." A third voice joined the room, and both the avengers' heads snapped round to the direction it came from. In the door stood Steve, shoulder leant against the frame and ankles crossed.

"Who's watching y/n?" Nat asked.

"Clint. Anyway, my father - he used to read me a story when I was a kid. The Odyssey, I believe it was called. It was a Greek myth about a bewitching girl who lured saloons in with her voice so she could feed off them." Steve continued, pushing himself off the door frame and walking further into the room.

"There's no way that's real, though." Nat dismissed, frowning heavily at his words.

"No, no. He has a point - I mean, look at Steve. Look at me." Bruce said, gesturing to himself and Steve. "We shouldn't be possible, but science does some crazy things. Y/n was with HYDRA, right?"

"Yes, but-"

"Well, what if they did this to her. We know she was taken when she was young, so what if they did so to experiment on her?"

"I should go talk to her, you know - girl on girl. She seems to like me, maybe she knows what she is and she might open up to me, if I ask nicely." Nat suggests, walking out the room when she was met with no protests from the two men.

"There's something else I should mention." Bruce started fidgeting again, which man Steve's brown knit together.

"What is it, Bruce?" The super-soldier prompted. Bruce continued to fidget, not looking up from him hands as he spoke.

"Are you aware Tony used to have daughter?" Bruce asked sheepishly.

"Tony had a daughter?" Steve said, brows now raised with genuine shock. He knew of Tony's...escapades from before he was with Pepper, but he couldn't see Tony as the type to actually keep a child from just a one-night stand.

"She was adopted, some kid he found on the streets with no parents. So he took her in, raised her and then she just disappeared. Many people have forgotten she existed, and those that remember her are all under the impression that she is dead. I thought so too, until..." Bruce paused, flipping through some papers on his clipboard until he found what he was looking for. "Until this." He finished, handing the board over to Steve.

In Steve's hands was proof that matched y/n's DNA to that of Tony's adopted daughter.

"Well that explains the name, and her hesitation to tell us who she really is." Steve frowned, eyes scanning over the paper repeatedly. Bruce hummed in agreement, taking the clipboard back from Steve when he held it out for Bruce to take. "Do we tell Tony?" Steve asked after a moment.

"He doesn't want to know, I've tried telling him but he doesn't care." Bruce told Steve and Steve pressed his lips together as he thought. "I do think we should wake her up though. If she's Tony's daughter there can't be anything that's more dangerous about her than you expect her attitude." Bruce said and Steve nodded, suppressing a laugh.

"I'll tell Nat to wake her up." Steve said as he exited the lab.

...

The steam from the shower engulfed me, my hands running through my hair and brushing out the tangles lightly. As I scrubbed the shampoo from my scalp, I hummed a small tune - thankful to be somewhere noisy enough that I wouldn't risk affecting anyone with my powers. After waking me up Nat told me to clean up and get changed before handing me a pile of clothes and telling me that she would meet me at my room in half an hour to take me to meet the rest of the team.

Shutting the water off, I slid the glass door open and my feet padded onto the thin bath-mat. The towel wrapped around me as I patted my hair dry with another one, looking over my scarred figure in the large mirror opposite me.

A large scar spanned the width of my stomach, smaller remnants of cuts littering my thighs that were joined by one larger one from where I was once stabbed. Looking at myself over my shoulder, I observed the large scars that spanned over my back, the layers fading at different degrees from their varying ages. The memory of how I got them brought tears to my eyes, which I was quick to blink away and focus back onto what I was doing.

Pulling the large sweatshirt Steve had lent me over my head, I left the large bathroom clad in a pair of leggings and some socks I borrowed from Nat. I brushed my fingers through my wet locks, detangling them. I threw the towel onto the bed in the room I had been assigned and plopped down next to it, taking my time to survey the room I barely got a look of earlier.

The door to the en-suite bathroom I just exited sat on one side of the room, accompanied by a big closet and a dressing table. A chest of draws was propped next to the king sized bed the sat in and the free corner housed a small kitchen. It had a stove, fridge-freezer, sink and a few cabinets. On the side sat a kettle, toaster, blender and some chopping boards.

A sharp knock on the door bought me back to my senses, making me perk up a little at the sound of Nat's voice.

"You feeling okay?" I nodded. "Good, well Steve and Bruce want you to meet them in conference room 4. I'll take you." She quickly added the last part in seeing my scared face.

As we walked down the halls we chatted, talking about our pasts and finding out that we were fairly similar - we were both forced into the bad things we did, we both found a way to redeem ourselves, neither of us have ever had a boyfriend and we both love chicken noodle soup.

"Well, this is it." She announced, pointing at a door to our left. I nodded, going to open the door before pausing and turning around.

"Thank you. For taking me with you, for giving me this chance, for hiding me from HYDRA - thank you, really." I spoke softly, giving her the friendliest smile I could muster.

"No problem. I couldn't live with myself if I knew we could've helped you. Everyone deserves a second chance."

"I genuinely can't thank you enough - you saved me." I said, quickly swiping away the threatening tears with the heels of my hands.

"I was nice meeting you, y/n."

"You too." And with the last words said, I pushed the door open, walking into the room and being instantly greeted by Bruce and Steve.

"Hey, y/n, why don't you take a seat and we'll get the introductions out the way?" Bruce suggested and I nodded shyly. I took a seat next to Steve, who appeared to shuffle slightly away from me but I couldn't be sure.

"So, another midgardian?" a bulky man with shoulder length blonde hair and a red cape clipped to his shoulders broke the silence. He was clearly the God I'd been hearing about - I mean how much more of a costume does he need to look like Thor?

"Yes, we think so." Bruce confirmed. I frowned at this. Midgardian? What the hell was a midgardian?

"We think she's been tampered with, like me," Steve elaborated, "but as far as we know, she is of this earth." Steve spoke and Thor nodded. "We are keeping her safe from HYDRA." Steve said to break the silence as they all stared at me with funny looks. I kept my eyes cast down now, cheeks hot with embarrassment after feeling so many eyes on me at once.

"Does she-" I interjected the second I heard another voice. I stood abruptly, pushing me seat back and wincing at the screeching noise it made before resuming my angry face. I slammed my hand down the table as I stood, catching the attention of everyone sat at the table.

"If even one more of you refers to me as 'she' rather than just fucking talking directly to me I am going to end up sirening one of your asses!" I demanded, seething with anger. A grin broke out on Thor's face.

"Atta girl, I like this one already!" He laughed and I sat down again, smiling contented ay his compliment.

"She's got Tony's patience, all right." Another man remarked with a smirk. Steve simply rolled his eyes as common menus about my attitude were thrown around the room. Finally, someone addressed me. It was a woman with Blonde hair and kind eyes. She looked motherly.

"Hey, I'm pepper." She smiled kindly and I quickly reciprocated it. They went around the table - the man who had commented about my patience was called Clint, the blonde man was was indeed called Thor and obviously I'd already met Bruce and Steve.

"I'm y/n." I returned and she repeated my name in her beautiful voice, almost as if she was testing how I'd felt in her mouth.

"Y/n. A stunning name for a stunning lady." Thor commented, boyish grin still in place and I gave him a sheepish smile.

"Oh, cut it out big guy - you're like, a billion times her age." A voice came from the door and we all turned to find out who it was.

"Tony. I wasn't aware you'd be joining us." Steve said in a monotone voice and Tony gave him a tight smile.

"You don't get everything your way, Capsicle. Now, who's this?" Tony said, stuffing a mouthful of blueberries in his mouth before stuffing the bag of food in his back pocket and motioning to me with a nod.

"Tony, this is y/n," Bruce said moving out the way from where he was standing so Tony could see my face. The man's eyes widened instantly as the recognition sank in. "Y/n Stark."